With Dauntless Abandon
by temporaryinsanity91
Summary: When Tris goes to visit her brother in prison, she sees someone that intrigues her. She is determined to learn his secrets, and he is determined to love her with Dauntless abandon. T for language and some non-explicit sexual content. rating subject to change.
1. An Epigraph

_I never thought that you would be the one to hold my heart,_  
_but you came around and you knocked me off the ground from the start._

_You put your arms around me,_  
_and I believe that it's easier for you to let me go._  
_You put your arms around me and I'm home._

_How many times will you let me change my mind and turn around?_  
_I can't decide if I'll let you save my life or if I'll drown._

_I hope that you see right through my walls._  
_I hope that you catch me, 'cause I'm already falling._  
_I'll never let a love get so close;_  
_You put your arms around me and I'm home._

_The world is coming down on me and I can't find a reason to be loved._  
_I never wanna leave you, but I can't make you bleed if I'm alone._

_You put your arms around me,_  
_and I believe that it's easier for you to let me go..._

_I hope that you see right through my walls._  
_I hope that you catch me, 'cause I'm already falling._  
_I'll never let a love get so close;_  
_You put your arms around me and I'm home._

_I tried my best to never let you in to see the truth._  
_And I've never opened up;_  
_I've never truly loved 'til you put your arms around me,_  
_and I believe that it's easier for you to let me go..._

_I hope that you see right through my walls._  
_I hope that you catch me, 'cause I'm already falling._  
_I'll never let a love get so close;_  
_You put your arms around me and I'm home..._

_You put your arms around me and I'm home._

-Christina Perri, "Arms"


	2. Chapter 1

He looks haggard when her eyes find him. His hair, as usual, is mussed lopsided toward one side of his head, but even it looks dejected and tired. His shoulders are slumped. When she sits down in front of him at one of the many round tables that fill the room, she notices how pale he is in the fluorescent light, how the dark circles around his eyes are darker, the shadows in them deeper, bags under them puffier, the green of his irises dull. His jaw is tense, and it has a bruise. On the table, his hands are clenched into tight fists. She can see that the knuckles on his right hand are split and that there are bruises on his wrists. His gray shirt has the buttons in the wrong holes, making him look even more lopsided and tired. She wishes she could touch him, but the guard will kick her out. If she could, she would hug him and tell him that everything is going to be okay, that it's almost over, that he can get out of here soon. Who cares if their parents hate him? She is his sister, and she will not let him rot in here alone.

"Hey Bee," he mumbles.

"Caleb—what happened to you?"

"Rough night," he says shortly, and she knows the discussion is over.

"Hang in there," she begs, tears clogging her voice. "Please, hang in there. It's three more months, okay? And then the parole hearing will be up, and then you can get out of here."

He snorts. "They won't let me out of here."

"Caleb..."

"Don't. Even mom and dad gave up on me... I don't know why you haven't yet."

"Because you're my brother, Caleb. I can't say I'm not angry, but I love you. I know you can make it through this."

His entire body sags. "I... can't anymore," he whispers. "I let everyone down. I let you down. This place is... _hell_. I'm not going to make it here."

"Caleb—"

"I'm done," he says, and the words are so loaded with defeat that the weight of them feels like a hundred tons of cement on her chest.

"Don't say that," she mumbles, tears spilling on to her left cheek.

Caleb reaches out as if to catch them, but then remembers that he isn't supposed to have contact. His hand drops between them, heavy and defeated like the rest of him. He sighs. "I don't know if I have anything left to fight with," he tells her.

"Dammit, Caleb!" she slams her hand down on the table, causing half the room to jump. "Listen to me," she growls. "If there's anything I know about you, and how you ended up in here to begin with, its that you don't quit. So don't do it now, do you here me? I need you, and you _will _walk out of here, or so help me, I'll kill you myself, and it will hurt the entire time you're dying!"

Across the room, a small smirk plays at the corner of a man's lips. He is wearing a dark gray prison uniform as well, but she can see that his left arm is covered in tattoos. His eyebrow is quirked as he watches her outburst. He isn't sitting at a table with a visitor, though. He is standing near the door... his visitor must have left already. The thing that strikes her the most is his eyes. They are haunted and dark, a strange color of blue that she has never seen before. He makes her tremble, but she isn't sure why.

Caleb follows her blank stare across the room and visibly shudders. "Why are you staring at him?!" he hisses. "Are you trying to get me killed?"

"Who is that?" she mumbles back, tearing her gaze away from the man by the door and focusing on her brother.

"They call him Four—that's like, his gang name or something. He's in for some pretty heavy charges, but nobody messes with him. He practically runs this place—even the guards stay out of his way."

"Well, he is sort of scary," she says, still shaken by the surge of things that coursed through her body that she couldn't name.

"And you don't even live here," Caleb says with a snort. "Just do me a favor and quit staring at him so I don't die tonight."

"Right," she mutters. "Sorry." She sighs. "Caleb... what can I do?"

"What can you do?" He scoffs. "There's nothing you can do."

"I can call Christina—maybe she can get you help somehow."

"I don't need her help," he snaps. "Christina is a lawyer, she'll make money whether or not I'm in here, what does she care?"

"Christina is _your _lawyer, and I'm paying her to care. Besides, she is a friend to us, and she will do the best she can."

"Fine," he mumbles.

"Okay. I will do that then."

"Thank you, Bee. I love you."

"I love you too," she says. "I wish I could hug you."

He just stands, making his way back to the prisoner entrance where the man, Four, stands. Four doesn't look at him or even acknowledge him, and she breathes a sigh of relief. She stands and goes back to the guard to collect her things.

* * *

That kid, Prior, never speaks at all. He just sits, trying to be invisible, but all he achieves is being visible to all the wrong people. He'd wondered if he should put his foot down, but ended up not interfering. But that girl that went to see him today, that girl made things happen inside him that he didn't want to think about. All he knows is that if her... _somebody..._ died in prison, it would destroy her. So now, he is putting his foot down.

Prior sits alone with his tray, picking at the disgusting food with little interest, at a table in the corner of the cafeteria. He stands and takes his tray. Immediately, Gabe, Cruz, and Rock stand with him. "Where we headed, Four?"

"Over there," he says flatly, with authority. He doesn't want them always questioning him. He can sit wherever the fuck he wants, and they can come, or they can stay. He sets his tray down next to Prior and sits, resuming the conversation he was having with Cruz as if nothing had happened. The tables around them are quiet, and Prior stares in disbelief.

"W-what...?"

"Shut up, kid," Four mumbles. "When something good happens to you, you don't ask questions. Just go with it."

Prior's eyes are still wide, but he is silent after that. A fast learner.

"I'm Four," he says, louder. "This is Cruz, Rock, and Gabe."

"Uh—hi. Caleb," he mumbles, pointing at himself. He isn't really processing that he's with _these_ people, and they aren't trying to beat him or stab him... or worse.

"You're sorta quiet, ain'tcha?" Rock says, sort of amused. "We don't bite, you know... most of the time, anyway." At this, Cruz snorts and three pairs of eyes turn to Gabe, who glares at his tray. "That fucker asked for it," he mutters, stabbing at the slop with his fork.

They all laugh, and Caleb watches them curiously. It's almost as if they were trying to be his _friends. _He never had those, except for Bee, who always stayed close to his side, even when they were little.

When they were little, he was sort of bossy and insufferable, he knew that. In kindergarten, the teacher told his parents that he was mean to the other kids, calling them stupid because they didn't know things he felt were obvious. He skipped two grades after that, and was found to have very high IQ. That was when he started messing with computers. He loved to see what makes them work, to watch videos about writing new programs with this technology or that one. They captured his imagination like nothing else in the world. By the time he was nineteen, he was hacking into government mainframes blindfolded and with one hand. Bee begged him to stop, but he didn't. Why would he? It was his favorite thing, the one thing that made him feel alive.

His parents took his computer away once, the first time they caught him hacking into porn sites—they gave it back after a couple of months, but he was unfazed by the display of parental authority. His parents were never home, anyway. His mother, Natalie, was a social worker—dealing with vocational rehabilitation for homeless people—and always away at conferences and meetings. His father worked for some politician that was definitely going to get elected this year, he just _knew _it, so he had to travel and make sure they were on that gravy train when it arrived. Nobody cared about him and Bee. They were left to fend for themselves. He wanted them to see that he was going to make their life better with his new talents. He was determined for everyone to _see. _But especially her, because she mattered more to him than anybody.

He started hacking into financial institutions, and even regular businesses, and doing some creative accounting. With the new found flow of cash, he bought her everything she wanted: a spring break trip with her friends to Cancun (and not some shitty part where the Mexicans would kidnap American girls for kicks either, but a legitimately secure resort), a dress for her first party at college, new jewelry, and all her books for her classes. When she graduated, he bought her a new car—a Mustang with a glass roof and customized blue-gray paint that matched the color in her eyes. She'd stared at him with tears in her eyes, and he hugged her so hard she coughed a little bit. He was so proud of her.

Now she worked as a graphic design artist in some huge marketing firm, their name buying a lot of her prestige there. _Beatrice Allison Prior._ Daughter of Andrew Prior, the local rising star in politics.

_Caleb Anthony Prior._ The grand larceny and fraud convict, sentenced to twenty years in prison. If they knew _everything _that came with her name, she would lose everything she worked so hard for.

_Bee._ He wanted to cry with the ache that grew in him. God, he missed his sister.

"Hey man, look alive," Four snaps, right in his ear. "You've got a target on your back this big, and I don't like looking out for people that can't look out for themselves. They slow me down."

"Is that what you're doing? Looking out for me?"

"I am now."

"Why?" he asks, bewildered.

"Because I feel like it," he snaps. "What did I say about asking so many fucking questions?"

"I... sorry."

Four shrugs, then gives him a contemplative look. "You thinking about that girl that came to see you today?"

He stiffens. "If you think you can buddy up with me so you can get at my sister, you have another think coming," he snaps. "I don't care what you or any of your loser friends do to me, or anybody else."

"Relax, man," Rock says. "If Four wants to get at your sister or any other girl, he wouldn't be asking _you_ about it."

"Fair enough," Caleb mumbles. "You still can't get at my sister."

Four raises an eyebrow. "Can't I?"

He gulps. "No," he says, his breath shaking.

"Fair enough," Four says, and to his relief, changes the topic.

Dinner ends, and they are all escorted to their cells.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Chris. He's not okay. Something happened to him in there. Oh God, do you think they..."

"They what?"

"You watch enough TV to know what I'm asking," she snaps.

"It's a possibility. I honestly don't know. I will get in to see him this week, I promise, okay? Let me get some things cleared out of my schedule—how about lunch Thursday? After that I will go visit him. I have court in the morning, but not the afternoon. I can cancel some meetings and shift some things around."

"Thank you," she whispers.

"Hey, don't worry, okay? If something is going on, I will get to the bottom of it. Hang in there, Tris."

"Thanks again," she whispers, hanging up. She puts her head in her hands, her fingers sinking into her hair. She grips it, tugging at it sharply as a harsh groan escapes her lips. She doesn't register how much time passes with her crying at her desk, but someone squats in front of her eventually, a cup in her hands.

"Tea," she says gently, pressing the paper cup into her hands. "Why don't you go home?"

It's her friend and boss, Tori Wu. She's a brilliant businesswoman and artist, and didn't judge her or her family when she finally broke down and told about her brother, the first class jerk that she loves so damn much. "Thanks," she sniffs.

"Want to talk about it?"

She shakes her head, sipping her tea. She wants to take a deep breath, but it escapes in a sob instead. "He's dying in there," she says. "I can feel it. I saw him yesterday and he looked... I don't want to lose my brother," she whimpers.

"Oh honey," Tori says, rubbing her back. "Look... go home, draw yourself a bath, read a book, uncork some wine, and clear your mind. I need your head in the game for this project, okay?"

She nods. "You're right. I'm not getting much done here, am I?"

"You've never been this upset after seeing him."

"He's never been so... defeated."

"Take a break, okay? Come back when you're ready to hit the ground running."

She nods and gathers her things. Tori reaches into her incredibly large bag and hands her a facial wipe and a mirror, and she cringes when she sees her reflection. She cleans the makeup from her face, and then Tori hand her one of those de-puffing wipes. It feels good on her face, and she sighs.

"That sounds like you need a spa day, too."

"Maybe Christina will want to come," she says dejectedly. She won't argue her way out of this, so there is no point in trying.

"Good idea. You can talk to her about it, and she'll handle it, and then you won't have to worry about it. Now scram."

"Okay, okay," she says, a small smile on her face. "Thank you."

"Hang in there, sweetie."

* * *

She named the damned thing after him. They only let her keep it because she promised to give back everything else—all the jewelry, money spent on trips... and because she promised to pay back the full value of the car. Her mother helped pay most of it, of course, but she still had a fair amount of debt to pay off. Hopefully, she would be done paying it this year.

"The things I do for you, Caleb," she mutters, but she smiles when she sees the lights of the blue car flicker in response to the remote in her hand. It is the only thing she has of him that still makes her smile, and she takes it for maintainance almost obsessively. She had his name airbrushed on the side of it in dark blue letters, right near the back where the fuel door would be, if it were on that side. The letters themselves look like they are made of blue flames, dark but burning at the same time. It looks sort of sassy, and that suits her well, because she feels really badass driving this car. It's her baby, and she loves it.

The engine purrs, almost seductively, and she grins with anticipation, the way she always does. She's positive nobody has ever loved a vehicle as much as she loves hers. She parks it in the garage of her apartment building—in the corner, where it isn't surrounded, so there's less chance of it getting banged up—and makes sure it is locked. Tomorrow, she'll go to Uriah's and wash it by hand. That always makes her feel better after seeing him.

Saturday rolls around, and she showers and dresses quickly, making sure to wear a bikini top underneath the colored tank top—these car washes usually end in water _fights,_ and she usually loses those. She wears shorts and flip-flops, and then she carefully inspects her prized Mustang, checking it for scratches, flat tires, or other problems.

Uriah Pedrad went to college with her for a year or two before he dropped out, choosing to go to a tech school instead. He kept in touch, though, inviting her out to parties and emailing or calling every so often. He calls her Short Stuff and she always hits him when he does, but they've turned out to be very good friends. He owns a repair shop across town, and she gets to drive right past the Sears Tower on her way to see him. The sunshine through the roof of her car makes her feel alive, and she sings along with the radio as she drives. Caleb knew she would be happy with this.

When she parks in front of his shop, he is already waiting for her outside with two buckets of soap water and two buckets of regular water. "I was expecting to see you today," he says with a grin as she steps out of the car. He comes forward and wraps her carefully in a warm, safe embrace. He has olive skin and dark hair that is a mess of curls. His eyes are warm brown and his grin is like daylight. He's practically vibrating with excitement, and she has to smile as he kisses her head. "How's my favorite Short Stuff?"

"Hey, screw you," she says, but she's laughing.

"I'm open to the idea," he says with waggling eyebrows. Then he turns serious. "I mean it. How are you? Christina called me, she said you were upset."

Her smile leaves her, as does her good mood. "I don't want to talk about it," she mumbles.

He sighs, hugging her hard again. "You'll be alright. I swear you will. He'll be fine, he'll be out before you know it, and then it'll be over."

She shrugs.

He grabs a sponge out of a bucket and hands it to her. "Let's give this baby a bath, shall we?"

They carefully soap up the car, the bubbles making her laugh as the pop on her skin, tickling the hairs there.

"Will you tell me about when he gave it to you?"

She scrubs at a spot in the paint and smiles. "It was at my graduation party," she says happily, a relaxed smile on her face. "My dad, naturally, invited all his boring higher-up friends so that he could show me off to them and shuffle me into some political career, you know? Follow in his footsteps, or whatever? My friends were there—you were there too—but you guys were all out by the pool while I was stuck talking to my dad's friends. Caleb pulled me aside and handed me a flute of champagne. 'Congratulations, baby sister,' he said to me, and he kissed my head. He... likes being the bigger, smarter one of the two. He's sort of an asshole, you know? But he loves me, and he was being nice that day, even though he still calls me 'baby sister' or 'Bee' like he did when we were little—to let me know that I'm still little to him. He asked me if we could go for a ride, but I had no idea how he planned on doing that."

"He cares about you. You don't know how many times he destroyed people in school on account of you. You know, once he found out that some guy was planning to drug you at a party, so he gave an anonymous tip about where to find drugs to the campus police, and then he hacked the guy's computer and planted a virus that wiped all of his assignments and framed the guy for cheating. He got expelled and banned from campus."

Tris stares at him in disbelief. "He... did that?"

"His assholishness comes in handy most times. I would have just kicked his ass, but Caleb _ruined_ him. I wasn't supposed to tell you that happened... he didn't want you freaking out. But now you know. You have a guardian angel in the form of your douchebag older brother."

She snorts, spraying down the car to rinse the soap off. When she looks up, Uriah is grinning, his brown eyes sparkling mischief. She shrieks as he squirts water all over her. She sprays him back, right in the face. "Hey!" he yelps, ducking down behind the car.

She ducks too, and they spray at each other, laughing, until a rush of wind blows, chilling them both to the bone. Summer though it might be, Chicago breezes always have the power to chill the atmosphere with one gust.

Uriah hands her a sweater, and they get to work drying the car and waxing it. When it shines to her satisfaction, she goes into the garage with him. He reaches into car parts and tools immediately. "You never finished telling me the story."

"Oh. Where was I?"

"He pulled you aside, congratulated you, and then asked you to go on a ride."

She nods, smiling. "I really didn't know how he planned to get Dad's car or Mom's, but he just said not to worry about it. I followed him outside, you know? And there it was, with a big bow in the school colors on top. 'What is this?' I asked, even though I was pretty sure I knew. He grinned at me, the kind where you know he's getting away with something, and he said, 'It's your car. I thought you might want to take it for a test drive.'"

Uriah smiles as he reaches for a towel on the workbench behind him. "How did this guy _not _have a girlfriend again?"

"He did... Susan Black, they were on again and off again since high school... mostly off, but he would get really jealous if she tried to date anybody else. When he went to prison, she ended it for good."

"Did they make her give back all his gifts too?"

"Yeah. But... it wasn't much. Some jewelry and a really expensive leather journal that she ended up just paying for."

Uriah raises an eyebrow at that, but says nothing.

"What?" she snaps.

"It's just interesting that he got you more stuff than his own girlfriend. Most guys normally blow off the siblings to be with their girl, but he didn't."

Her shoulders slump. "He loves me," she says quietly. "More than anybody. He said that, once."

"And I'm sure it's still true. Hey, look. I know this is hard, but try to keep your mind off it, okay? He's ruined enough, don't you think? You don't need him ruining your moods, and your career, and your life. I mean, he's done enough, and he's been through enough, and neither of you need that shit right now."

"You're right."

"I know I am," he says with a grin and a nod. "So. You are coming out with us tonight, we're going paintballing. And then tomorrow, Chris is going to take you some place nice on Michigan to get plucked and waxed and whatever else, and then the three of us are going to hit a party at the Parallax."

"Do I not have a choice in this?" she grumbles.

"No way," he says with a grin. "Your douchebag angel isn't around to watch you, so that job has fallen on me. And let me tell you, I'm glad it's me and not some shady boyfriend whose ass I'd have to lay out."

She chuckles. "I don't have shady boyfriends."

"Example A, Peter Hayes. That guy was... creepy."

She frowns at the mention of his name. "He was a jerk."

"You're always so sour about him. What'd he do to earn _your _hate, of all people? You never hate anybody."

"Well, he's an ass," she snaps.

"What'd he do, Short Stuff?" Uriah asks, only half joking.

She sighs, and it's a frustrated sound. "Fine, alright? Fine. I caught him with some whore, and when I started yelling at him, he had the nerve to slap me. I kicked his ass out the next day. Okay?!"

"Jesus," Uriah mutters. "Shady boyfriend," he sings, and she smacks his arm, hard. "Example B, that scrawny guy, Robert."

"He wasn't that bad."

"He was a lousy boyfriend, and I know I saw him making out with chicks at least twice while he was _in love _with you."

"Well, to be fair, we'd drifted apart a lot."

"What about that guy you were dating when I met you? Err—Al-something. That guy was a certified stalker, and you and I both know it. He was obsessed with you."

She stiffens. She doesn't want to talk about him.

He frowns. "What?"

"You didn't... you didn't know."

"Know what?"

"After I finally got rid of him, he..."

"He did what?"

She shudders. "He hung himself in his closet."

"Jesus," he mutters again. "Are you serious?"

"He wrote me a letter about how much he loved me, and how he was sorry he'd never be good enough for me, and all this other stuff. It was... _awful_."

"I'm sorry, Short Stuff."

"Yeah, me too," she says flatly.

"Girl, all your boyfriends from now on have to pass the big brother Uri test. And if they don't, I'm going to run 'em off, no its, ands, or buts."

"Right... the flirty big brother type that can hurt people with crowbars, I'm _definitely_ going to introduce aaaaaaaall my dates to you, first thing," she says sarcastically.

He grins. "You better."

"Whatever."

"Okay, lighter topic! All this doom and gloom is depressing as fuck. Let's talk paintball. Are you gonna be green tonight again?"

"Duh."

"Why green? Yellow is better."

"So you be yellow today."

"Maybe I will," he says.

"You know I will kick all of your asses tonight."

"Oh please," he says in a sassy voice, waving his hand dramatically as he snaps his fingers. "Girlfriend, I'm about to paint you yellow, like, uh-huh."

She giggles at his horrible impression. "We'll see about that."

They talk and laugh for a couple more hours, and then she stands, stretching. "I'm going to head home. See you tonight."

"I'll pick you up," he smiles.

She takes her keys and leaves, smiling. Uriah always knows how to make her feel better.

* * *

So the girl was Prior's sister, was she?

He hasn't slept all night, thinking about that girl slamming her hand on the table, and growling at Prior with such authority that the only thing he could do was nod dumbly. He told Prior to talk about her, to tell him good shit about when they were little or whatever, to hopefully lift the poor kid's dismal mood, but instead, all it had done was sour his own mood.

When he was eight and she was seven, someone dared to call him some name, and she punched the kid in the face, breaking his nose. When she got suspended from school, her parents were gone, so he made the nanny keep them both home, and he taught her how to play Chess until the week ended.

When they were fourteen and fifteen, the power had gone out over some blizzard, taking out the heat with it. They simply left home and went to Florida for the week, enjoying the resorts. He talked her ear off about the physics and engineering behind the rollercoasters until she turned around and told him to shut up and either ride the damn things with her or wait outside. They'd argued the rest of the day, but at the end, he bought her ice cream and funnel cake, and they apologized to each other.

Prior has always been a smarty pants, then. The kid even irked his own sister with his superior intelligence complex. Too bad he doesn't have the brains to see when he's talking too much. Or maybe he just likes to hear himself talk. But in any case, now, at the breakfast table, all he can do is run his mouth, and he can see why Prior's sister was so damn annoyed with him. But the way he'd talked about her yesterday, defending her even though he was scared to death told him that he was right to look after this guy.

It also told him that there was something about that girl, something he wanted to know.

Thad damn girl had plagued his thoughts and his dreams when he finally fell asleep at like four in the morning. He dreamt about her hands, and her lips, and other things that, according to Caleb, he wasn't supposed to dream about. He'd liked her lips. She bit them a lot, when he'd watched her, but they were still soft-looking and sexy. Her hair was dark blonde and straight, always falling out of the messy bun she'd tied it in and into her face. She was tiny, barely five feet, two inches tall maybe, but she had an ass you could bounce a quarter off, and that shit was just awesome. She was thin, but not unhealthy. In fact, everything about her was very natural, not like the sluts that Eric always hires for his parties and his... _business transactions._

Eric. The name makes fury boil in his chest, and he forces his thoughts back to the Prior kid's sister. She is much more pleasant than that traitorous son of a bitch, anyway.

He touches the back of his neck, and he frowns again. What would she think if she knew he was Dauntless? The flame drawn there on the top of his spine burns his fingertips as if it were real. He wishes he'd never gotten involved with those assholes, but he can't say that now. All he can do is ignore the fact that he will waste away in here because of them.

He goes to the gym with Rock, and he goes to the yard with Caleb and Gabe. There's a fight, and the three of them stay out of it. As long as it isn't one of his people, Four isn't worried. On Sunday, the prison chaplain holds a service for the religious folk, but Four thinks all of that is bullshit. What could God do for somebody on the inside? What did God ever do for him?

Monday, he is sitting in his cell waiting to be let out for lunch when the guard's voice makes him jerk to attention. "You got a visitor," he says flatly.

Who the fuck would be visiting him? He follows the guard curiously, wondering why he has a visitor for the first time in nine years, wracking his brain for anyone that might know him that would bother to show up.

This visiting room is not the weekly visit room, and it isn't the no contact rooms, where they have to talk through a phone. It is a private one, like the kind they use for lawyer visits—or conjugal ones. There is a girl standing at the bars her hands wrapped tightly around them. Her hair is loose today, probably because they won't let her bring anything for this type of visit—she doesn't even have pockets in the back of her jeans. They are dark skinny jeans that show off her legs, which she wore with a sleeveless blouse that hugs her just right when she turns around.

Her eyes are blueish-gray. He didn't see their color that well when she was visiting her brother, but now he can. Her breasts are just handfuls, but they are perky and would feel fucking awesome under his hands. He wants to touch her, but he sits down instead.

"I... noticed that you were in the room but you didn't have a visitor."

"Did you?" He says, frowning.

"I was curious why you were there if you didn't have any loved ones coming."

"And you came all the way here to ask me that?"

She glares at him, and he's amused. "Let me tell you something about me, Little Sparkler," he says, raising an eyebrow. "I don't like questions. So if all you came here to do was ask me questions, I'm going to go back to my cell."

She sets her jaw. "Let me tell you something about me," she hisses. "I don't like nicknames. My name is Tris, and you better call my by my name."

Now he's really amused. "Or what?"

"Or I won't come back," she says, her smirk a knowing one.

That just wouldn't do. He _had _to know the Sparkler. She didn't like the nickname, but that was just too bad. When anger sparked in her eyes like that, it reminded him of better days, when his mom would let him have sparklers on the fourth of July, their light bright and powerful, but fairly harmless. "You're lying," he says instead of all of that. "You will be back because you're curious about me. But you shouldn't be curious about me," he tells her. "You should be afraid."

She snorts. "Of what? That you'll send someone after me? Or after my brother? I've heard all the threats before and let me tell you, they stopped scaring me after like the third time."

"You were scared of me when you came to see your brother."

She swallows. "That... was different." She looks away.

He stands, moving toward her. "That's why you're here," he says to her, his fingers wrapping around the bars on either side of her. "Do I scare you, Little Sparkler?" he whispers, his face inches away from hers. She stares up at him, eyes wide, her lips parted as she tries to breathe. She wants to shake her head, but she can't.

He smirks. "You should stay away from me then," he says. Then he moves back toward the door so the guard can escort him back to his cell.

* * *

**thanks for reading so far. i hope you've enjoyed this very AU story so far. l****et me know what you think.**

**~temporary insanity**


	3. Chapter 2

"_You should stay away from me then," he says. Then he moves back toward the door so the guard can escort him back to his cell._

* * *

She is in shock as she drives home. That logo... she has seen it before. It is the symbol for a gang. _Dauntless. _The people that are responsible for more than half of the illegal firearms in this city. If a criminal owns a gun, it more than likely came from a Dauntless. Dauntless are also known for... _special assignments. _There have been everything from bank-robberies, to murders committed in this town with the Dauntless mark attached. They are almost their own species of militia. And frankly, why would any gang get their hands dirty when the Dauntless are guaranteed to get away with it, not leaving even a trace except for their flame at the crime scene.

She is attracted to a _gangbanger. _Is she out of her damn mind?! Has he participated in any of those things? Is he a murderer, or a thief, or a gun slinger? She has the feeling that the answer to those things is no, but she is still terrified of him.

She wants to agree with him. She _should _stay away. She should leave him alone. _But she won't. _She can't. As frightening as it is to be near him, to be _attracted _to him, there was something else that was going to keep making her come back, and it had nothing to do with the fear, or the magnetism that had happened between them the second their eyes met.

And there _had _been magnetism. He'd looked at her with lust that lit her on fire. She is still burning, and she doesn't know how to feel about that. He os a prisoner, for godsakes. He is a criminal. He was so closed off with her, even though she could see he wanted her. That is what frightened her, she realizes. She wants to know this man—and not the _biblical _way, necessarily. She wants to know _him_, but he would never willingly show her his true self.

She decides to see Uriah again. He will know what to do.

He looks up from the car he's working on and smiles. "Hey Short Stuff. I wasn't expecting to see you today."

She grins. "Hey. How's your ego after I killed you in Capture the Flag?"

He smirks. "Recovering. How's yours since you won the game for your team—you know, again?"

"Inflated," she says with a roguish grin.

He reaches out to poke her, but she dances out of his way. "I want to talk to you," she says seriously.

"About?"

"Shady boyfriends," she mumbles.

"Uh oh. What happened?"

"I met someone that makes me... feel..." She swallows, and goosebumps race across her skin.

"But?"

"He's never going to love me," she mumbles.

"You don't know that."

"He's... he's special, I can feel it. But he's never going to let me _see _it. Do you know what I mean?"

"Not really," Uriah says with a frown. "How did you meet this guy, anyway?"

"He's... he's in prison."

Uriah tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling. "Have you lost your mind?" he says tonelessly.

"Apparently," she snaps. "Look, I don't know what to do!"

"I would tell you to forget him but you aren't going to do that, are you?"

"It gets better," she mumbles. "He's... got a flame on his neck."

"What kind of flame?" Uriah asks suspiciously.

"I think you know the answer to that," she whispers.

"You've got to be _fucking_ kidding me. You're going to get yourself killed!"

She swallows. "I know. I know, I... I don't want this. I don't want it, I can't... but, he... I _know _he's..."

"He is a career criminal, and that's all you know right now."

"That's—"

"Shut up! Shut up. You are not going to be a prison bride for a gangbanger. Caleb will kill you. Hell, _I _will kill you! You cut that shit out, do you hear me?!"

"You don't get to tell me what to do," she snaps.

"You came here for me to tell you what to do," he says with a humorless laugh. "I'm telling you to forget him. Why can't you be attracted to a normal guy—like a business man or an artist or a fucking waiter or something?!"

"I don't know," she mumbles. "Maybe... maybe I am."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means that I don't think he's as ruthless as he comes off... I just... I want to know him, for real. But that's a useless thing to want."

"And I think you're right," he says sourly. "You're going to know him for real, and then your body is going to turn up in the damn river."

"You're wrong," she says, and her lip trembles.

"Aw, Tris," he says, his voice gentle. He wraps her in his arms and kisses her head. "You're under a lot of stress right now," he says gently. "Take some time away from all of this. Focus on yourself for a little while. Can you do that?"

She nods. "You're right," she whispers. "Maybe I just need to get away. But I don't have time off at work..."

"You don't need it. Look, I'll get Christina to pass along to Caleb that you won't be around to see him for a couple of weeks, but that you'll write him or something. How's that?"

"Okay," she whispers.

"You just do your thing at work and then we'll keep you busy at night okay?"

"Actually... I haven't been to my studio in a while."

He smiles brightly. "You should go tonight."

She does drive to her studio. It is a loft overlooking the river. It has windows on two sides, letting natural light flow into the space, coating her various paintings with sunlight. She takes in the scent in the room, letting it fill her lungs. It smells like oil paint and acrylic paint, and pencil dust, and sunshine. But today she will use neither acrylic nor oil paints.

She searches through various drawers until she finds her oil pastels. She sets up her easel and begins to draw. She isn't sure how long she's been drawing before the daylight is over come by city lights, but it's too dark to see very well anymore, so she stands and turns on the lights. When she returns to her stool, she stares at her drawing as if she'd never seen it before. She's done enough self-studies to know what she looks like, but the woman she has drawn is not herself, although she looks like the girl she sees in the mirror every day. The woman in the picture looks like her, twenty seven years old with plain blonde hair and dull gray eyes, but the woman in the picture is aware in every cell of her being of the man in front of her, his front pressed to hers, pressing her into the bars behind her. Behind the bars there is darkness, and around them there is darkness. He is dark too, almost... _monstrous._ His muscles ripple across his shoulders and arms, and everything about him screams sex.

She sighs. The idea behind coming here was forgetting him. She puts the picture aside and starts a new one. She colors black, and orange, and red, and white, and she recognizes what she is drawing only after it is almost complete.

It is a flame, a Dauntless flame. It fills her entire canvas with fire, and the flickering flame is the ghost of his face. He _is _the fire. She will be burned.

She puts the image aside. She will put _him _aside.

* * *

She hasn't come to see him or her brother. It has been two and a half weeks, and he is so insufferable that he can't even stand himself. He was an idiot to tell her to stay away. When he sees her again, he won't be so fucking _stupid_.

Smarty Pants is insufferable too, but with worry. Apparently the Sparkler and his lawyer are close, and the lawyer told him that she was going to take some time to clear her mind. What the fuck did that mean? What weighed so heavily on her mind that she stopped seeing her own brother?

Wednesday comes around, and Thursday, which is the weekly visit day. She still hasn't showed up, not even for Smarty Pants. He puts the iron weight down with a huff. He didn't mean to chase the girl away from her brother—he never would have done that. It is clear that he needs her, and that she has never abandoned him.

He wants to hit something, but instead he moves to the bench press, where Rock moves to spot him. "What's been up your ass, man?"

"Nothing," he grunts.

"You been pumping iron until you're fucking purple for the last two weeks."

"I can do whatever the fuck I want, and I don't like questions. I also don't like repeating myself."

"Dude... nevermind. Forget it." He helps push the bar into its slot, relieving the weight from his friend, who sits up and takes a swig of water.

"Dude! You've got a visitor, man. Where the heck have you been?"

"Oh, okay," Rock says easily. "My brother must be here."

"No, not you, idiot. Four."

"Me?" Is she here? He wipes his face with a towel and puts his shirt back on. It is a black wife beater, and it shows the whole sleeve of his left arm. He goes to his cell to get new pants, and then he follows the guard to the visitation room. It is the weekly visit room, not the private one.

She is sitting at a table, waiting. Her hair is in a ponytail today, a short tendril of baby hair curling around her ear. She is wringing her hands, anxious. There is paint in her fingernails. Hmm. He sits down as the other prisoners do, across from the Sparkler.

He doesn't know what to say, so he waits for her to speak. When she does, her voice is quiet, and her eyes are lowered, avoiding his. "I... only want to say that you were right. I... won't bother you anymore. If you just... forget about me, and my brother, I won't come see you again."

He swallows. He didn't expect to be so crushed by that. "About that," he says roughly. "Let's make a new deal."

She shakes her head. "I can't. I can't do this."

"Why not?"

"Because you're..."

He frowns, angry now. "What? I'm what? Dauntless?"

She shakes her head again. "It isn't that," she whispers. "Not entirely."

"Then what?"

"You're never going to let me know you or... or really love you. Are you?"

He can't answer that, and he says so.

She draws a trembling breath, and tears are falling onto the table, small puddles of salt water. "Then, I guess there is nothing left to talk about," she whispers. "Goodbye... Four."

"Wait—wait! I can... I can try. I _will _try. Don't—don't go." He has never _stammered _in his entire life, but now his words are both strangled in his throat and tripping over themselves in their rush to make it out of his mouth, all at the same time. "I swear to you that I will treat you how you deserve. I swear it on my life."

She watches him shift, the clenching of his hands, the bead of sweat that forms near his hairline. He has never been this uncomfortable... _vulnerable _even... in his entire life. _He's already trying,_ she thinks to herself. She smiles a tiny smile that leaves him wholly unsatisfied, and then she exits the visiting room.

* * *

She returns on Monday, to the private visiting room, and he's so relieved that his stoic restraint abandons him. He practically sprints to the visiting area, and there she is, seated in one of the private rooms, her thumbs twirling as she waits. This time, she has paint in her hair, too.

He doesn't bother with a greeting when she stands. He just stands in front of her. Her breath is predictably faster, responding to his proximity. Her eyes are wide, but they close involuntarily when he touches her cheek with his hand. His lips ghost her other cheek resting at the corner of her mouth. When they finally meet her own lips, they are hungry, powerful, consuming her. A strangled gasp escapes between their mouths, and he pushes her toward the table, seating her on it gently. He pushes her legs apart so he can stand between them, and relief courses through him when he feels every inch of her, flush against him. _He hasn't been this close to a woman in ten years._ He wants that to be the reason this feels so good, but he knows it isn't. The second he saw her, he knew she had the power to break him.

The thought chills him, and he pulls away, leaving her gasping for breath. He shouldn't let her come back. He shouldn't ask her to stay. But he wants her... _God, _he wants her.

She reaches for his hand, tracing the designs that trail up his arm. "Will you tell me about them? Your tattoos, I mean."

At least she was starting off easy, sort of. "The white rose, the lily, and the cross are for my mom. She died when I was nine."

"They are beautiful," she says, her artistic eye taking in the details of the flowers, each petal's intricate detail, and the grayish cross behind them, which looks like a replica of what her tombstone could be. She looks up at him. "I'm sorry for the loss of your mother," she whispers.

"It was a long time ago."

"Can I ask how she died?"

"No," he snaps. "Not yet," he amends apologetically.

"That's okay," she says with a small smile. "What about the black lines?" She traces the black marks that spring from behind the cross and flowers, whirling their way up to past elbow with stark precision.

"Just tribal art. There's more on my back. I... I just liked them."

"And the rest?"

He looks down at his arm. The tribal art knots and twists around a blazing number 4 on his bicep, the colors radiating from it, going behind the complicated system of knots and lines, all the way down past his elbow, fading into his forearm.

He shakes his head. He doesn't want to answer that either.

She shrugs. "It's amazing," she says.

"Thank you," he says with a smile, and it his first real smile in a very long time. She smiles brightly at him in return, and he wants to kiss her again, so he does. When he pulls back, he grins. "Okay, my turn. What's with the paint in your hair and on your hands?"

Something about her changes. She is still sitting with her legs wrapped around him, her face still flushed from their contact. But she straightens, and there is strength in her he's never seen in anyone. Her eyes shine, and he can't tell their color anymore, whether they are blue or gray. What she is going to say next passions her. "I started painting when I was four years old," she says. "My mother bought me my first easel and paints for my fifth birthday, and I've been in love with it since—just like Caleb and his computer programming stuff. It makes me feel... I don't know... _alive. _I have always known that it is what I'm supposed to do. You know?"

"So you're an artist then?"

She nods. "I do my own art, but I also work as a graphic designer at a marketing firm on Michigan."

"Impressive," he says with a nod. "What do you paint?"

"Mostly scenery—skylines, sunsets, that kind of thing. That requires travel sometimes, though, which I do mostly in the winter. I hate the cold."

He chuckles. "Who could blame you?"

She shudders. "I'd rather be anywhere than in a Chicago winter. I have a working theory that Antarctica might be warmer about eighty percent of the time."

He laughs. "You might be right about that, but I'd have to see some science to prove it."

She grins, and he tucks her hair behind her ear. His hands are rough on her skin, but it doesn't matter. He still makes her feel like she isn't breathing enough. Her chest heaves ever so slightly with each breath, and his eyes are drawn to the movement. Heat rises to her skin in response, coloring her flesh light pink.

He meets her eyes again, his gaze mischievous. He leans down to kiss her neck, pushing her back a little bit so that he can stay close to her. All she can do is pray that she doesn't breathe hard enough to pass out as his lips explore the skin of her cheeks, her jaw, her neck, and her collar bone. He pulls her shirt aside and smirks. "Who knew you had a rebellious streak, too, Little Sparkler? When'd you get these?"

She flushes bright red. "It was... just that, you know? A rebellious streak. During college. My dad said something about people with tattoos and jobs, and it just sounded so ignorant and wrong to me that I went and got one just to piss him off."

He nibbles at the three birds on her collar bone, following their flight with his tongue. She trembles.

"Five minutes," comes the announcement. He pulls back, setting her gently on her feet.

"I'll see you around, Little Sparkler," he says with a wink.

She smacks his arm. "That's not my name."

"Okay," he says, laughing. "Alright, fine. I will see you soon, _Tris_. Please be safe."

"You too," she mumbles dazedly as he presses his lips to hers again. When she leaves, her fingers are still on her lips.

He turns and saunters back to the weight room, grinning.

* * *

"Alright, girl. When are you going to talk about why you've been smiling like an idiot all day?"

Christina has changed out of her severe business suit in favor of a black dress with a blue sash and blue spiky heels that make her feet hurt just looking at them. They have come to a bar and lounge place called 'Gloss' for a drink. Mostly business people come here to drink, so the atmosphere is calm and classy, with low music, comfortable seating, and low lights.

She worked from home today, sent her designs in early, and spent the rest of the day with her oil pastels. She drew his tattoo, the number four, surrounded by the intricate celtic details, and she smiled as she bit her lip.

Kissing him had been... _exhilarating. _She'd been with guys before, something she would never tell anyone, not even Christina, and that was because that one experience or two was downright awkward and humiliating. But just _kissing _him was more exciting than anything she'd experienced in her life. He was so strong, so powerful. But he didn't overpower her—not in a bad way. He liked being in control, though. And she liked that it felt safe to let him control the kiss. It felt better than safe... it felt like home.

She wishes she could show him her art, but she isn't allowed to bring anything into the private rooms. Still, she so wants him to see what has flowed from her hands the past few days. She has an art show coming up, and she has done many abstracts based on his tattoo, in various mediums from pastel to paint to charcoal, to water color, to plain ink. She is confident that all of them will sell. They are as beautiful as his tattoo is. She named the series 'Ink'. She will save a portion of the money she makes off of them for him—it is his tattoo, after all. She wonders how she will give it to him.

"Nothing," she finally answers the question Christina asked. "I just... finished my last series for the show."

"Awesome! When can I see?"

"The day of the show," she says with a smirk. "But I... I love it. It's I think they are the best abstract paintings I've ever done."

"Sounds interesting. I can't wait to see. But that isn't what makes you smile like that."

She frowns. She'd hoped she'd gotten away with the lie, but clearly, that is not the case. "I... I met someone."

"Ooh! Spill it, girlfriend!"

"I don't... I don't know if I'm ready to talk about him yet. He's... he's important."

Christina watches her intently, her eyes discerning her posture and movements. "You know you can tell me anything," she says at last. "I'm not going to judge you."

"I met him visiting Caleb," she finally blurts out. "He's... he _lives _there."

"You're in love with a prisoner?" Christina says in disbelief. "Wow... okay. Well... what's he like? Is he hot?"

She swallows and nods. "I... he kissed me, and it was so... _intense..._ and I just, I don't know. I don't want to talk about him yet, okay?"

"Okay, okay. Let's make a toast instead, to you finally finding love, even if it's in the strangest of places."

"Cheers," she mutters, sipping her beer. "So how about you? Anybody new?"

She sighs. "After Edward, I just... haven't been looking. You know?" Edward was her fiancee, until three weeks and two days before the wedding when she found him with another girl. She was destroyed, and he ran off with the new girl. Christina saw their engagement in the papers some three months later: _Edward and Myra, to be wed in May of 2012._

"Well, I think you run in too small a circle," Tris tells her.

"Maybe."

"No offense, but I wouldn't marry a lawyer, unless I knew I could handle it."

She shrugs. "Fair enough. I wonder who would be able to handle me."

At that moment, a waiter sets down two Long Island Iced Teas. "From the gentlemen at the bar."

Christina turns to see a man with a white shirt and tie, the top button undone and the tie loose, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair is dark blonde and sort of shaggy, mussed from a day that was clearly stressful to him. He is drinking beer from a mug and talking to another man. He meets her eyes and sends her a charming smile, which she responds to with one of her own.

"Oh my God, Chris," Tris whispers. "He's gorgeous. You _have _to talk to him."

"I can't, no way. I just finished telling you—"

"That was last year, and he clearly didn't deserve you. You have a chance right now to meet a guy that could be better."

Christina's olive skin is suddenly darker. "Are you blushing?!" Tris smirks. "Get up and go strut your stuff!"

"Fine, fine." Christina stands and smooths her dress down, then walks confidently to the bar with her drink still in hand. The blonde, cute guy gives her that charming smile again. "Thank you for the drinks," she says to them, raising her glass. "I'm Christina."

"Will," he says, taking her hand. Instead of shaking it, he presses the back of it to his lips. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Uh—likewise," she mumbles.

They fall into conversation easily enough after that, laughing and grinning, and eventually flirting hardcore, complete with poking and tickling. Tris grins at them. They are acting like teenagers, but she is happy. At least Christina will have a chance at someone she can be with.

Tris will never have that—the man she wants is in prison.

_Fuck._

"Hey don't cry," says a voice above her. The man that was talking to Christina's new _friend_... Will, his name is... sits down in front of her. "What's the matter?"

She shakes her head. "Long story."

"I have time," he says with a smirk. "I'm Fernando. Hey waiter?" the waiter materializes by their table, and he smiles. "This lovely lady here needs to have a good time. Will you bring me your best vodka and two shot glasses, please?"

"Sure thing," the waiter says with a smirk.

Tris's eyes widen. "No way," she whispers.

"Let's play a game," he says with a grin. "Let's play truth or lie. We each take turns telling two truths and one lie. If we guess wrong, we have to drink. If we guess right, the other person has to drink."

"I'm going to have the worst hangover," she mumbles. "Oh alright, let's do this."

The waiter places the bottle and glasses in front of them. "Have fun," he says, still smirking.

"Okay, I'm up," Fernando grins, pouring two shots. "One, My last name is German. Two, my favorite color is red. Three, I'm a cop."

She considers for a moment. "Two is a lie," she says.

"Dammit," he mutters, tossing his shot back.

She laughs. "Okay, my turn. One, I don't have a middle name. Two, I painted the mural in the new station of the L train. Three, I own a mustang Shelby GT 500."

"Well this is tough. I can see I'll be getting wasted tonight. I'm going to say one is a lie."

"Crap," she mutters, tipping her head back and pouring her shot into her mouth. She swallows, ignoring the burn in her throat.

He's smiling. "So, what is your middle name?"

"I'm Beatrice Allison," she says with a smile of her own.

"Wait—so you _did _paint the mural, then?"

She nods.

"Well, congratulations. You are a very talented artist."

"Thank you," she mumbles. "Your turn."

"One, I hate basketball, two, I have a girlfriend, three, I am a college drop out."

"I would hope number two is false," Tris says with a nervous chuckle.

"More or less," he says. "Please, take your drink and I'll tell why you're wrong." She does, and he smiles. "I married my girlfriend about two years ago," he says with a winning smile. "She's still my girlfriend, though. I still do the things for her that I did when we were dating. I mean—that's why we fell in love, right? Why mess with a good thing? So yeah, I drag her out on the weekends, and I buy her flowers, and hold the door, and all that cheesy stuff. She eats that shit up, too. I swear I'm her trophy husband."

Tris laughs. "That's really sweet, though. Good for you."

"Thank you."

"Wait—so, why did you come over here if you're married?"

He raises an eyebrow and points over her shoulder to where Christina and Will are much more comfortably seated, their faces inches away from each other as they talk. "I happen to think my partner deserves that."

"He's a cop too?"

"Yeah. We're detectives, we investigate mostly gang-related violence."

"That must be so hard," she says thoughtfully.

"Most days, yes. Today, Will lost an informant of his. It's been a rough day for him. He really wanted that girl to get out of the life, you know? She was trying hard, finally, to make her life right. But they found her out, and you know, that was that."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she frowns. "That's awful."

"Yeap. So, canceled on the wifey tonight, decided to drag him out for drinks and pray that he'd find good company tonight so his drunk ass wouldn't have to be on my couch."

She chuckles. "Well, Chris is great company. I think she deserves this, too."

"Well we're in agreement then," he says, raising his glass. She raises hers in return, and they both gulp down another shot of vodka.

* * *

Four paces, frustrated. He didn't evens start that fight. He shouldn't be in here. But it's Sunday, and he's in the damn hole, for who know how the fuck long—he'll miss her visit. She will come and he won't be able to see her because he was busy saving her brother's ass... literally.

Cruz and Rock jumped in when they saw him go against three guys on his own, but he could have taken them. However, he'll have to make sure Smarty Pants knows how to fight in the future. He can't keep getting his ass kicked like that. Tris would be upset if something happened to him.

_Tris. _

Her name echoes in her head, first a whisper, and then louder and louder until it is a scream in his mind that he wishes he could claw out with his nails.

He kneels, then supports his weight on his hands while he straightens his legs. The push ups make his arms shake at some point—he doesn't know when, he lost count after eight hundred—so he takes a seat on his cot again, sufficiently exhausted. But her name is still in his head, on his lips... in his dreams.

_Tris._


	4. Chapter 3

_The push ups make his arms shake at some point—he doesn't know when, he lost count after eight hundred—so he takes a seat on his cot again, sufficiently exhausted. But her name is still in his head, on his lips... in his dreams._

* * *

She invited her bosses and some of her coworkers. It is a friendly invitation, but it is partly political, too. They are talking about downsizing the graphic design department, and she wants her bosses convinced that she is still an asset to the company. So, given that her art does well, they will see that she can indeed create things that sell.

She is wearing a black dress with a deep v on both sides, and a belt with a metal bow in the front. Her hair is sideswept and held in place with a sparkling clip, and her make up is simple. She doesn't want to be the focus of tonight. She wants the art to be the focus. She _needs _this art to sell.

She's so nervous, she's sure she'll throw up, but Christina is there, with Will, of course. They haven't been able to keep their hands off each other most of the night. Will, naturally, brought Fernando and his wife. He also brought his sister, Cara, who has just moved into the area and is looking for art to place in her home.

There are art critics and bloggers here, having found out about the show through the internet. They are discussing her pieces critically, their voices low.

The one person she aches for will not be here, though. _Four. _He would steady her, she knows it. But he isn't here, and her stomach is tight with anxiety.

"Calm down," Christina says in her ear. "Everything is great so far. My eyes and ears say a good amount of the collectors and critics here are looking to buy."

She breathes a shaky chuckle. "Good."

"That series you did on tattoo art is getting looked at by your boss. He says he might buy the whole collection."

"No way! Oh God," she says, fanning her face with her hand. "Oh God..."

"Calm down. You've officially made it as an artist, girlfriend. All reviews are positive. The internet people are tweeting, and the money is going to come like a damn tidal wave. Just you wait."

"This is unreal," she mumbles.

"Get it together! Show your face, schmooze your crowd. Get a feel for them yourself. You'll see. They're loving your stuff."

She takes a deep breath. "Okay. I'm schmoozing. I'm confident and I'm good at what I do."

"That's right. Get it, girl!"

She smiles her gratitude and enters the side of the show room, unobtrusively. The whispers around her make her smile immediately.

An older man sets his eyes on her and moves toward her. "Beatrice Prior, correct?"

She nods, extending her hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine, young lady," he says as he shakes her hand firmly. "My name is Jack Kang. I buy art in large quantities for places like office buildings and hospitals. The children's hospital is looking to replace their art with more modern, abstract pieces that their patients will appreciate... and I think you are an excellent up-and-coming artist. Therefore I would be glad to negotiate a contract with you for some art to be reproduced."

Tris swallows and nods. "I-I... I'd be honored," she manages. "How many pieces would you need?"

"Well, your watercolor art is fantastic, I'm interested in a few pieces myself. For the hospital contract, we would need about one hundred watercolor pieces, which would each be reproduced at least twice to fill all the rooms."

"Whoa..."

"Please, take my business card and we can discuss this contract in further detail."

"Thank you," she says, shaking his hand again. Her eyes search for Christina, who simply smiles.

_You're doing great,_ Christina mouths to her, pointing her thumb up.

She grins brightly and turns to find more people to talk to, confidence building in her with every step.

* * *

"It was amazing," she says, her smile so bright, Four is sure he'll go blind. "I didn't know they would like it so much. I mean—I was confident that my work would sell, but never like _that_."

"Congratulations," he says sincerely. "You're beautiful, and your work must be so amazing that nobody could resist buying a masterpiece from a beautiful, talented girl like you. I'm glad your art show did well."

"Want to hear the best part?"

"What's that?" he murmurs, nipping at the skin on her neck.

"The last series I completed—people were bidding for it. _Bidding! _As in, I made a shitton more money on them than I expected because people were willing to pay _extra. _The set finally sold for like, six _thousand _dollars. I still can't believe it. I was asking for $125 for the larger pieces and $90 for the smaller ones, but they seriously... I mean, for the whole set, that should have been eight hundred dollars to a grand. But _six?! _I still can't believe it!"

"What'd you paint about that had them so interested, hmm?"

He smile leaves her face, and it's replaced with shimmering eyes and a trembling lip. "It was... it was based on your tattoo."

He pulls back to stare at her. "What?" he asks blankly.

"The tattoo on your arm... the tribal art. It just... it stuck in my head, so I drew a bunch of different versions of it, in a million different ways. It was a study on tribal tattoo art, I guess. I named it 'Ink' and I guess everyone really liked it." She sniffs. "I wish they could have met you. I missed you so much."

He catches her tear with his thumb. "You shouldn't think about me so much."

"We're going to go through this again? I... want to be here as long as _you_ want to be here."

"I know but..."

"Stop," she snaps. "I... you scare me when you say those things."

"Then I won't say them anymore," he says simply. "I just don't know why you aren't looking for someone to be with out there."

"Because out there, there's nobody like you."

He smiles a little bit, and he molds his lips to hers. They don't say anything else. They just kiss until the end of visitation.

"Take care of yourself, Little Sparkler," he says to her as she starts to leave.

"You too, Four," she whispers. Then she's gone.

* * *

Caleb sighs. There were men in this prison that had tried to get in Four's inner circle for years. Naturally, those people are upset that all he did to become Four's _friend _is to get his ass kicked. He wonders if this would be good or bad for Four's rep or whatever.

Since when does he give a shit about this _Four _guy anyway? Oh... right. Since he's boning his kid sister. He shudders. Did Four really think that he wouldn't find out? He's a fucking genius, for crying out loud. He can keep tabs on his own sister. Now if he pisses her off, Four will know about it. He isn't safe anywhere.

He sinks to the ground in his cell, his head in his hands. Meanwhile, Four is going to be running around with his sister, and there won't be anything he can do about it. He's not allowed in the computer rooms, so it's not like he could mess with Four that way.

Maybe it would be best to just confront him. That seems like the best way to go about it. So, when the guard finally escorts him back to his cell, he simply sits and waits. When they let him out for dinner, he walks stiffly, but with a straight back and even gaze. He drops his tray next to Four and sits down.

"What got into you?" Four asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I know you're screwing around with my sister," he says flatly.

Four is silent, and the rest of them stare, their eyes darting between Four and Caleb, waiting.

"If you hurt her, I swear to God, I will make your life hell."

"And just how do you plan to do that?" Four asks, amused.

Caleb smirks. "You guys have your muscles and home-made knives. You could kill me in my sleep, and it would hurt for a second, and then I'd be dead. You'd add to your time in this hellhole, and that would be the end. But me? Do you know _why _I'm in here? I'm in here because I hacked my way into hundreds of thousands of dollars, I've hacked my way into government mainframes, I've hacked my way into classified files. Don't think for a second I can't hack my way into this prison system and _ruin _you." There's not really a need to mention that he can't even get in there to do said hacking...

Cruz snorts. "I call bullshit. If that were the case, you could hack the system and put us all up for parole tomorrow."

"I suppose I could," Caleb says thoughtfully.

"Why haven't you then?" Four asks curiously.

"Because I don't want to make things harder for her. As long as I... have her to look out for, I don't need to do that. But make no mistake, if I lose her on account of you, I'm coming for you, and I'll have nothing to lose."

Four stabs at his pathetic excuse for a salad, mulling over what Caleb just said. He knows the hacking stuff to be true, because Tris said so. He doesn't really understand their relationship—they love each other so intensely, he is positive they should be twins or something. But the way she talks about him some times, her eyes snapping with irritation and her fists clenched, makes him think that they piss each other off just as intensely. She would be pissed if Caleb started snooping around her relationship. And Caleb will be pissed if he fucks things up with her. Best to set him straight now, to avoid any future drama.

"Not that it's any of your business," he says finally, "because your sister is a grown woman that can and does take care of herself, but I'm not 'screwing around' with anybody. If you knew anything about me, you would know that I don't 'screw around'. That said, if I want to have sex with your sister, there is nothing stopping me from fucking her brains out a million times if that's what we decide—her and me, and _not _you. I already have nothing to lose, so I'm way ahead of you. I'm at rock bottom, Smarty Pants. I can't lose anything else. Anything you could do to me would be worthless if I had already lost her. This is the last time we're having this or any discussion about me and your sister. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," Caleb mutters.

* * *

Today they are talking about sports. The age-old Sox and Cubs thing is a non-issue for them, because they don't follow the teams or the debate. That is probably the one thing that keeps them from getting into a full blown argument. They are actually arguing about other teams—first, the Detroit Tigers, the New York Yankees, and, for some odd reason, the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, and then they argue about why the Green Bay Packers will always be her favorite football team, and her eyes snap as she argues point after point over this player or that one, or why her Packers are going to slaughter their way to the Superbowl this year—

"Slow down, Little Sparkler," he chuckles. "How'd you learn so much about sports, hmm?"

"Shut up," she mumbles. "I... Caleb. When he's not hacking into the NSA or something, he likes to watch, and play in fantasy leagues, and all of that—he's a nerd, through and through, though, so really his thing is statistics and numbers and physics, and all of that. He'd tell me just how the player hit the ball to get that grand slam, or how high Tom Brady had to jump to throw that pass successfully, or whatever else, or what the chances are based on the batting average, of this player or that one hitting a home run... he doesn't believe in superstition. He's all about the math."

"I guess that's a good place to come from. How good is he in fantasy?"

She smirks. "He won every year until..." her face falls. "Until he had to come here. Can I ask you something?"

He nods, but he is already stiff, his arms already tense around her.

"How long have you been here?"

"Ten years," he says shortly. "Two months ago made ten years."

She heaves a sigh. "So long," she whispers. "Ten years ago I was still in high school..."

"What high school did you go to?" he asks curiously.

"Oh... it was Michigan Lake School of the Arts. Ah—private school."

"Your brother?"

"Some other expensive private school for smartasses like him."

He snorts. "Sounds about right. The guys and I call him Smarty Pants."

"That's exactly what he is," she snorts.

"He's... worried about you, you know."

She frowns at him. "Why would he be worried about me?"

"Cause of me," he says plainly. "I don't think he likes the idea of me defiling his little sister."

She turns beet red in the next second. "You haven't _defiled _me," she says over his laughter.

He grins, kissing his way across her cheek and toward her ear. "Not for lack of want," he whispers mischievously, and she swallows.

"Five minutes," comes the guard's warning.

She scrambles out of his lap and toward the door, calling a hurried goodbye.

He sits for a moment. Huh. So, making out is fine, but sex makes her nervous. He'll get rid of that problem one of these days.

* * *

Her heart is still racing, and her skin is still burning. She should have known he was thinking about sex with her... the way he acted and the way he touched her made that obvious. But hearing him say it was totally different.

She's let herself be carried away by the way he ignites her, but if she ever tries to... _let him..._ she knows she will panic, freeze in terror, scream and get him in trouble... something. It will go horribly wrong. That's what always has happened, anyway.

She's still on the shot—she has been since she dated Peter, in high school and through her first year of college. He was sort of controlling and overpowering, so when he started moving further than they normally did together, she didn't bother resisting, or asking, or anything like that. That time was painful and over quickly, and she had been turned off to the idea since. But after that, she thought it better to take care of herself. She gets physicals every year and blood tests—mostly out of habit. Sex with Peter was uncomfortable and sometimes scary. She was relieved when she got rid of him. She didn't have sex with any other people she dated. Robert someone that it never even crossed her mind with—someone that she was friends with because their fathers knew each other, and approved of the relationship. So they went to formal events together, made out some... talked, a lot. But there was no _real _attraction. Al was just—Al. She never would have been with him, and she is glad that she wasn't, because then his obsession could have lead to something much worse for her than him taking his own life.

But Four...

She shakes her head. Her hands are still shaking, but she wants to draw anyway. She takes her charcoal set to draw today. As she sits on the edge of her stool, one foot on one of the bars and the other in front of her to steady her, she feels calm wash over her.

Four will be different. Four is charming, and gentle with her even when he kisses her roughly and with abandon. Four always knows when to stop, and when to push. She has never been afraid of him. Why should she be now?

Now that she is calm, she can see that she's being foolish. He likes her and he wants to be with her. She's a grown person, she's allowed to want to be with a man. Christina would tell her to hit Soma or VS or something, buy a sexy set, and quit being a chicken. She isn't that confident, though.

She washes the charcoal off her hands and sprays the drawing with enamel, leaving it there to dry. Then she goes to Starbucks. She orders her favorite caramel mocha frap and takes her sketchbook out.

Across the street, a man with a huge hole in his ear and three eyebrow piercings meets her eyes. His hair is short and blonde, and he has tattoos all over. Individuals like that used to frighten her, but after having visited Caleb for six years, she's over that fear. No, that's not what frightens her about that man.

It's his expression. He is completely impassive, his blue eyes cold and uncaring. He walks as if everything around him is just bullshit. If someone were to have their head chopped off or something drastic like that two feet away from him, she has the feeling he would just shrug and keep walking.

She focuses back on her sketchbook, trying to put the creepy guy out of her mind. A chair scrapes across from hers and she jumps, looking up and expecting to see the tattooed man. Instead, there's a man with a gray shirt with the top button undone and a loose black patterned tie, blonde hair that's shaggy and windblown, and kind green eyes.

"Mind if I sit?" he asks with a grin.

Will. "Oh—yeah, of course. You scared me."

"Sorry." He sets his coffee down after taking a sip. Black, with sugar. Very police-like. She notes that he's still wearing a badge and gun. "You aren't here to check up on me," she says slyly.

"No," he says. "I need your help."

She sits back, watching him. "With what?"

"You go to the prison a lot to visit your brother, Caleb."

She nods, but she flushes.

He smirks. "I know you go visit someone else there, too. A Dauntless."

She nods again.

"I want you to ask him some questions for me, okay?"

She nods again. "First off, ask him if the name Janine Matthews rings any bells for him, and if so, how. Then ask him if he is still in contact with any Dauntless willing to wear a wire."

"Why can't you ask him?" She asks suspiciously.

He raises an eyebrow. "Because I know the nature of your visits allows for a much more... private atmosphere. It would be off the record if _you _asked him. Nobody would have to know that he said anything, and I could arrange for him to be protected on the down low. Now if I show up and then Dauntless start getting arrested left and right, they'll know that he was the one that opened his mouth, and he'll be a dead man."

"Then I'm not asking him anything. You'll have to find your Dauntless snitch somewhere else."

He sighs. "Tris..." he wrings his hands as he trails off. "Tris, I love Christina. I know I haven't really known her that long, but I fell really hard for her, really fast. She's worried about you, and her cousin... Uriah... he's worried about you too. You get mixed up with these people on your own, you're going to be over your head really quickly. I can help you. I can protect you _and _him, and that way things will be a lot easier for you."

"He doesn't talk to any of his old Dauntless friends," she tells him flatly.

He watches her. "He's already got you lying for him? What's next?"

"Hey, fuck you, Will. You don't know anything."

"I know more than you think," he says calmly. "When you're ready for the rest of the questions I need answers for, call me." He drops his business card on the table and walks away, slipping sunglasses over his face.

The creepy guy is on her side of the street now. She picks up her sketchbook and coffee, and she hurries back to her car.

* * *

_She is sitting with a blank expression on her face while Eric loads up the needle. The fluid is blueish clear. Behind her, A woman with a blue suit is explaining to him. She is a top scientist in some pharmaceutical company, and she has developed a new chemical weapon for Dauntless—for her son. Her eyes are cold and uncaring just like his._

_He has to stop them._

_Her blue-gray eyes are full of fear, but he knows that what comes next is worse, more fearsome and painful than anybody can ever live through. He struggles toward her, screaming her name. "Tris!" But it's no use. Eric plunges the needle into her neck. Her eyes glaze over, and after a moment, she screams._

He jumps awake, looking around to make sure he didn't wake up anyone else. He wishes he'd never met that woman, or Eric, or anyone else. He wonders if he'll cry, but he sort of knows he won't. He hasn't cried since the night they killed Lynn. She writhed in fear and pain for over two hours before she died. _Fear Serum_. As it was known on the street, anyway. It was practically untraceable in the blood, so no one ever knew how someone executed by Dauntless _really _died. It was developed by her in an effort to understand the chemical processes behind schizophrenia and other diseases that cause people to hallucinate. But dose of it mixed with heroine, and the victim will experience terrifying hallucinations and extreme pain until they die. There is no antidote for the damn thing, so there's nothing to do except watch that person cry and scream while their organs fail.

That must be such a horrifying way to die.

He puts his forehead over his arms. It was Tris in his dream tonight, not Lynn. _Fuck. _

He rolls on to his side, wrapping his arms around himself. _He can't let Dauntless have her. _He knows he should end things with her, but he's a selfish bastard. He feels for her the way he never felt for anyone—not even Lynn.

Lynn was a distraction. He was hurting and broken, and she was wild and free, and he needed that at the time. She introduced him to her friends—including Rock, who is here now. He is not exactly tall, but he's built like a damn wrestler on steroids, so everyone calls him that. He's in here because of a robbery bust. He'll only be here for five years, though.

Four will be here forever. He can't condemn Tris to that. She will escape this place when her brother eventually leaves here. His parole is coming up in a couple weeks, and maybe by then she'll be free of this place. Except she won't be, because of him.

He should leave her, but he won't. He won't because...

* * *

Caleb's entire posture sags as he retreats to his cell. He doesn't want to see anyone or talk to anyone. He just wants to be alone.

His parole was denied. He doesn't want to live here until his next parole hearing, in fuck knows how long. In this second he would do anything not to be here, anything to not have taken that money or stolen those IDs. _Anything._

He just... he just wanted her to be happy. He has his smarts. But she isn't as smart as him, so she deserves to have other things, like her art, which he funded most of through her college years when she was too broke to buy her own supplies or pay for her own studio. Yes, she was broke. They grew up privileged and rich, and he grew up privileged and rich and _smart,_ and they had everything as long as they did exactly what their absent, didn't-give-a-shit parents wanted. So when she decided to major in marketing and graphic design instead of political science, Dad cut her off.

The fucker. He should have been there to give her everything instead of following around that fucking Eaton guy all over the country like a lost puppy. His father is pathetic, and one day, he'll wish that he'd paid more fucking attention. _If he doesn't wish that already_, he thinks bitterly.

At least Bee still talks to Mom. It's mostly on a business level, though. He feels like Mom uses her. She's always looking for good banners or logos or something for her next big charity or fundraiser. Mom never cared about her art. Mom only cares now because she can use it. If he were out there to look after her, he would make Mom pay for her designs.

But he didn't get out. He's in here.

He wants to cry, but he doesn't dare. He already comes off wimpy enough to the other guys in here without crying because his parole got denied.

"Get up, Smarty Pants," says a cheerful voice from the entrance to his cell. He wonders how Rock seems so damn happy all the time being stuck in this dull piece of hell. "Four is waiting for you."

"He can wait," he says testily, but he stands up anyway. Best not to piss off the guy that's keeping him from getting his ass kicked all the time. If he has to be here longer, he might as well be smart about it.

"Get a move on, Prior. We don't have all day."

They find Four in the exercise room, spotting for Cruz on the bench press. "There you are. Since you're still here, I guess your parole hearing didn't go too well."

He frowns. "Not really." He stares at her hands. "Bee cried the whole time. I could tell she was trying not to, but then when they said... she just lost it."

Four frowns, but doesn't say anything. Cruz stands and claps him on the back. "Hey, we've all been there man. My moms still cries at my damn parole hearings, like that's going to help me at all. It's rough shit, but you'll get used to it, and your sister will be fine."

"For real, how could a girl like that _not _be fine? I mean, have you _seen _her ass?"

"Shut up, Rock!" Four and Caleb growl at the same time. Rock simply raises his hands in surrender.

"Sorry, sorry."

"You talk too much," Four says testily. "Get over here, Smarty Pants. We're here to help you blow off some steam."

"How do you plan to do that?"

"We're going to teach you how to fight. Arms up, genius."

Gabe winces. "This is going to go reeeeeaaaaaally well."


	5. Chapter 4

"_We're going to teach you how to fight. Arms up, genius."_

_Gabe winces. "This is going to go reeeeeaaaaaally well."_

* * *

Her eyes snap open and she releases a harsh breath. It is one in the morning when she looks at her alarm clock. Her heart is still racing and she squirms. _What was that?!_ But that's bullshit. She knows what it was. It was the darker part of her mind indulging her in things she'd chosen to ignore.

She's been visiting Four every week for almost four months now. It has been three weeks since the failed parole hearing, and most days, she still just wants to cry. But after yesterday's visit, she's felt... different. Yesterday was...

She scowls at herself. Yesterday was September 27th, and that's all.

But she's lying to herself. Yesterday changed everything.

"_Uh—hi, I b—mm," she's cut off by his lips on hers. Today they are consuming, where most times they are gentle. His hands are everywhere, and all she can do is remember to breathe, although most times, she forgets that too._

_He pushes her on to the table and, knowing the drill by now, she parts her legs for him to stand between them. He looks at her hungrily for a moment, and then his hands move again. One of them winds into her hair, tugging gently so that her neck is exposed as his lips follow the column of her throat. The other hand is roaming deviously. At first she clings to him for dear life, but when his lips return to hers, she moves them. She imagines she's tracing the tattoos on his back, which she has never seen. Her fingertips trace his rib cage and the lines of his stomach muscles, and he shudders a little bit. He likes that. Her hands move up more, toward his chest. His fingers trace her spine, which arches in response. He grins. "You like that, do you, baby?"_

_She doesn't know what her answer was, but he kept his hand on her back, alternately tracing her spine and rubbing gently. She feels his hand leave her spine and move across her ribcage and then... oh, fuck_.

After that was a blur of sensations and emotions she'd never experienced before, not with anyone. When it was for her time to leave, she felt like her legs were made of Jell-o, and her whole body felt like a live wire in a lightning storm.

That had never happened to her, not even with Peter, who she'd actually gone all the way with. Now all her brain could muster up to dream about was that moment she fell apart, or was finally mended together—maybe at the same time—in his arms.

"Beautiful," he'd said in her ear. When she was leaving, he helped her fix her shirt and her pants, and then gently helped her into her sweater. "Be safe, baby," he said, kissing her gently. His eyes were so bright, she could barely even see the light patch of blue that she noticed he has only in his right iris.

Now he's moved from 'Little Sparkler' to 'Baby'... she is sure she was fond of either nickname, but at the same time, she doesn't know which one she likes better. He still calls her 'Little Sparkler' though... mostly when she's irked. He likes that he can irk her, and she likes that he has a name for it.

She swallows. He is different than she had ever imagined. She doesn't ask him questions much, anymore. He is always reluctant to answer them. But sometimes, he volunteers things, like the reason why his favorite color is black, or why he is nicknamed 'Four'.

She grins. She always knew he was strong, but _that _strong? Her inner teenager swoons a little bit, and her reasonable adult side cringes with horror. He showed her the four, thin white lines on side of his stomach, where he got in a fight and was stabbed. He was only seventeen when it happened. But he still managed to knock out his enemies—yes, there was more than one asshole trying to take his stuff—took his things, and walked two miles to the nearest hospital. After that, whenever someone asked his name, he told them he was called Four.

He has yet to tell her his real name, so it was _Four_ that was on her lips when she opened her eyes.

Her alarm reads 2:39am, and she closes them again. She hopes she will sleep, but she knows she won't.

* * *

He hasn't stopped smirking the whole damn week, and it's starting to irritate Caleb. Gabe and Cruz mutter about him 'getting some' or whatever, but he never confirms, nor denies. _I guess it's good that he's too private to talk about that kind of thing so casually,_ Caleb thinks to himself. _Or else I might have to strangle him with my sleeve or something._

"What?" asks Rock, amused. "What's got you all spacey, Smarty Pants?"

"Nothing," he snaps.

"Okay," snorts Rock in response. "Are you planning on eating that? I'm hungry. And Four is waiting for you in the weight room again."

He groans. He's still sore from the last time he got his ass kicked... which was yesterday.

"Oh, man up, genius boy. You wanna survive your sentence, you better start learning a thing or two. Four is probably the best fighter in the whole damn state, let alone this prison."

"I've been getting my ass kicked every day for three weeks. I haven't learned anything except not to fight Four when he's pissed off."

He doubles over, laughing. "Well if you can learn anything from this, it's probably that," Rock chortles.

"Ever wonder why he's so pissed off?"

Rock is suddenly serious. "You didn't hear this from me, okay?"

Caleb nods, straightening.

"Four used to run with Dauntless... if you couldn't already tell. But something happened that landed him in here, when he was only nineteen, and it had to do with his ex-girlfriend and the guys from Dauntless he used to run with. He never talks about her or about what happened, but... my cell is right across from his. I've heard him dream. It's pretty disturbing, actually. He's... whatever happened to his ex that he keeps dreaming about, it's really bad. When he dreams about that stuff, he's usually in a pretty dark mood for the next couple of days."

"His _ex?_ It's been ten years and he's still hung up on his _ex?! _Keep that fucker away from my sister!"

"You're still on about that, are you?" Rock chuckles. "You better get over it. I think he really digs your sister. Why do you think he's been smiling like an idiot all week? And you can untwist your panties, they aren't having sex yet. I would know. I've known him long enough to know."

Caleb frowns. "I'm her brother, I'm entitled to know what he's doing with her."

"But you know you don't wanna know what all he's _doing _with your sister. Just keep your nose out of it, alright? Pray that Four isn't feeling sour today, I don't want to have to drag your ass to the infirmary. I have shit to do."

"Whatever," is his brilliant reply.

Four is standing with his arms crossed, looking stern but gleeful. He looks like he's going to eat the smaller man for breakfast, and have fun doing it.

Caleb is already wary. "What got into you?"

"It's my birthday," Four says sarcastically. "Arms up, Smarty Pants. Let's dance."

"Is it really your birthday?" Caleb asks, dodging the first punch. He tries to hit back, but Four grabs his arm and twists it behind his back. His knees hit the ground hard, and he winces.

"Get up," Four says, not unkindly. "You know what you did wrong, there, right?"

Caleb thinks for a second, then nods. "I over-extended."

Four nods. "Let's do it again. And yes, I turned thirty yesterday."

"Congratulations," Caleb mutters sarcastically, and the fight begins again.

They spend the next hour trading punches. Caleb grunts as he exits the weight room, trying to hide his limp. Four just looks satisfied, but he sports a decent shiner. Being in pain doesn't seem to bother him... almost like he's used to it.

Well, ten years of getting his ass kicked around in jail would make him used to it. If this is what Caleb has to look forward to, he does _not _want to stay here.

* * *

"You look good...better anyway."

"Yeah well... your boyfriend's been toughening me up a little."

"I see that," she grins, raising an eyebrow as she takes in the bruises on his knuckles.

"You look good too," he says after a while. "Things going okay with work? And... you know..."

"Yes and yes," she says with a smile. "Caleb... I know me dating someone in here sort of freaks you out, but I need you to trust me on this, okay?"

He studies her for a long time, and then he frowns. "You... you aren't my little sis anymore, are you? You... you grew up. A lot." He sighs. "And naturally, that's mostly my fault."

"Don't say that. So I'm getting old. So are you, though, and faster than me, because I'm younger!"

"Shut up," he says with a chuckle. Then he gets serious. "I do trust you, Tris."

She beams at him. "I love you, Caleb."

He grins. "I know." He raises an eyebrow. "That doesn't mean I don't get to mess with your boyfriend if he hurts you. I'm still your big brother."

"He won't hurt me," she tells him confidently.

"He better not," he responds.

"How are you really, Caleb?"

He sighs. "I'm okay. I'm okay now, really. I just... I want to get out of here. _So _much. But I know... I know I hurt a lot of people, and I know I hurt you, and I'm okay with having to be in here longer. I get that that's fair."

"Hmm," she says thoughtfully.

"You're... the best sister in the world. And I love you, and you have done so well for yourself without me. I always think... I always feel like I should be looking out for you, like we're still kids. But we're... you're not anymore." He sighs. "It's weird, not thinking of you as my baby sister, Bee."

She smiles at him. "I'll always be your little sister. I'm just... not as little as I used to be."

He snorts. "Are you kidding? You're like this tall—"

"Shut up," she laughs.

"I love you, Tris. I'm... I'm happy for you. Hey, how's that art thing going? Don't you have like fifty million things to paint now?"

She sighs. "Yeah. And now, mom's after me to design for one of her things again, and I just, I'm swamped. I can't do it, not right now."

"Well tell her that," he says flatly.

"I did. Believe me, I did. _She_ didn't believe me, though, so she showed up at my studio to see for herself what all I'm so busy doing that I can't help my own mother. And you know, I told the children's hospital that I would take some of the price off the paintings... as a donation, I guess... so I'm not making as much money as I would stand to off of this. So I really can't take time out of the paintings to do something else I'm also liable _not_ to get paid for."

"How much are you getting for the paintings for the hospital?"

She smiles. "A lot."

"Yeah? You're making it big, are you?"

"The deal is that I will get paid three hundred per painting and then seventy-five for every reproduction they do. That's around fifty thousand."

Caleb whistles through his teeth. "Fifty thousand, two hundred fifty, to be exact. That's sort of a big deal."

"Yeah, but... it would have been more. I was going to charge one twenty five per reproduction... but aside from the fact that that seems unreasonable, I just... they're sick kids, you know? And they deserve to have something nice to look at while they're stuck in their boring hospital rooms... I feel like a rip off making them pay for that."

"Would you donate art to the prison?"

She laughs.

"Hey, we want something nice to look at, too."

"Maybe I'll do a piece for your library or something."

"You rule, sis."

"I know."

She stands and exits the visiting room, smiling as she collects her things from the guards and moves to her car. Yes, things are looking up—

What the fuck? She stares at her car in horror. The glossy, blueish-silver paint on the hood of her car is now covered with black and red spray paint.

"No," she breathes. "No, no, no no no! Ugh!" she screams in frustration. Whoever messed with her car is going to have hell to pay.

* * *

"Sorry, Short Stuff," he says. "I got as much of it off as I could. You'll have to get Caleb to tell me where he got the custom paint done, so that I can order it and do some repainting. You'll have to ride around like this until that happens."

She frowns, and her lip trembles. "But... but..."

"Aww, don't cry, Shortie. I promise to get it fixed as soon as I can. Okay?"

She sniffs and nods. "Please hurry," she mumbles. "And I'm not your _shortie. _So don't call me that."

He chuckles. " Alright, alright. My bad. Just take it easy, okay? I promise to fix up your pony as fast as I can. Next time you see Caleb, tell him to write down the information for me, and I promise she'll be high gloss and gorgeous within a couple of weeks."

"Okay."

"Good. Get out of here, Short Stuff." He says her nickname with an extra emphasis just to see the expression on her face.

She doesn't disappoint. "Fuck you, Uri," she mutters, smacking his arm.

"Would that I could," he says with a laugh.

* * *

He's sitting in there waiting for her when she arrives, a grin on his face. He reaches for her immediately, pulling her into his lap and kissing her soundly on the lips.

She raises an eyebrow at him. "Were you going to tell me that it was your birthday on Wednesday?"

He frowns and shrugs. "Nobody's ever cared about my birthday."

"I do!"

"And how did _you _come to find out about this?"

"My brother told me," she says simply. "I would have done something for your birthday if i'd known, you know."

"Meh," he says with another shrug.

"What if I give you birthday kisses?"

He grins again. "I'm definitely open to _that_ idea."

"See? Birthdays aren't so bad," she says with a laugh.

He kisses her forehead and wraps her in a tight hug. "They're better now that you're around," he tells her.

She plants a kiss on his chest, over his shirt. "Happy birthday," she mumbles.

"Thank you, baby," he whispers.

* * *

"You look different," Christina says. It is Friday night, and Christina insisted that they go out. They are at _Gloss _again, this time with Will and Uriah.

"Well this is swanky," Uriah says. "Fancy as fuck."

"Shut it, Uri."

"I'm glad I dressed up," he keeps saying. "I hope their prices aren't 'fancy' too."

"Fine, if it makes you feel better, I will buy our first round." Three pairs of eyes land on her. "What?"

"You're buying us drinks? What got into you?"

Christina smirks. "Or, _who _got into you?"

Tris turns beet red. "Nobody got into me! What are you _talking _about?"

Christina bursts into laughter. "I was just kidding, but if you're that defensive, it means you finally let Four get past second base."

Uriah coughs. "Uh... maybe this is a discussion for another day," he mutters.

Will nods. "Yeah. Not... not now. Please. Although... I think we all need to talk about Four."

Tris shakes her head. "No. No, not today. Can we just... have fun? Please?"

Uriah wraps an arm around her shoulder. "You're buying my first round, I'm already having fun."

She smacks him in the stomach, and he grunts. Will studies her for a moment, but then sighs and agrees.

Christina drags her to the bathroom as soon as they find seats in the lounge. "What happened?" she demands.

Tris pinches the bridge of her nose. "I said I wasn't talking about it today."

"Oh come on! You've been little miss Sunshine since your visit with him on Monday."

"It was... I'm not telling you."

"Fine, fine. Alright. But tell me this. Was it... good?"

"Really, _really _good," she says before she slaps her hand over her mouth.

Christina shrieks and laughs. "Aww, my little Trissy all grown up! Finally experiencing the big 'O' and everything." She wipes a fake tear. "My little Trissy isn't a prude anymore."

"Hey, screw you," she mutters, running her hands under cold water and then pressing them to her cheeks so that the redness in them will fade. "We didn't... do _it..._ we just... are not talking about this anymore."

"Okay, okay."

"And I'm not a prude."

A snort.

"I will _shoot_ you in the _face_ next time we go for paintballing."

"You wouldn't!"

"Try me."

"You wouldn't hurt a fly."

"And _you _wouldn't risk the extra cover up it would take to hide all that green paint and bruising."

"Okay, okay!"

"Are we done here?"

"No way! I brought you in here to make you look like the slut you've become," she says deviously, pulling out her makeup bag.

Tris's eloquent response is... the middle finger.

When they finally go back out, Uriah has gone to the bar to order drinks and only Will is seated there. He's asked for a regular coke—being on call tonight, he is not going to be drinking, so he's been relegated to designated driver duty. He shares a look with Christina, who skips off to 'help Uriah with the drinks' and Tris sits down.

Will smiles at her. "How are you? I don't see you around much."

"Busy," she says with a smile. "I spend a lot of my free time in the studio, working my water color pieces for the children's hospital. I still can't believe that Mr. Kang liked my watercolor art so much."

"What have you painted so far?"

"Abstracts, you know? Animal print abstracts, letter blocks, that type of thing. I'm actually working on a sephia-tone thing, sort of. It's going to be a chest of toys when I'm done with it, but it will look different, since I'm going with the theme of abstract patterns. It's very unique, I think. I'm also thinking of a piece that's going to be watercolor and ink, together."

"Sounds like you've got a couple of masterpieces on your hands."

She smiles. "I hope so."

"I... know you said you didn't want to be involved with this, but I really can't keep you out of it anymore."

"What is it?" She asks, an edge in her voice.

"I think... I think it's time you let him tell you what he's in prison for."

"Why should I? What's the use?"

"You will know when you ask. When you do, come back and talk to me. You're going to need my help."

"You're being all cryptic and annoying, and I told you you need to find your snitch somewhere else. I'm not letting Four get shanked in jail or whatever because you have some gangster to catch!"

"That _gangster _is the key to a string of mysterious deaths that have happened in this town, and it's linked to a huge pharmaceutical company that deals in medications for mental health problems. Remember the name I gave you? Janine Matthews? She's involved in this whole thing, and she has more money and power than _God. _If _she's _got anything to do with Dauntless—which I can't prove that she is, that's why I need your help—then Four is in serious danger, and so are you. You have to ask him. Okay?"

She sighs and nods. "Okay. Okay, I will ask him."

* * *

**shorter than the others, but i hope you all enjoy. review or pm with any questions. thanks for your time.**

**cheers,  
~temporary insanity**


	6. Chapter 5

She is nervous when she enters the visiting room, but his smile dispels her nerves. He kisses her sweetly. "Hi, baby," he says against her lips.

"Hi," she answers, and the word is a sigh. His hands are roaming again, tracing her spine and tangling in her hair, but she breaks the kiss. "We need to talk," she says when she can breathe.

He frowns. "What about?"

He moves to sit on a chair, pulling her into his lap—their usual position for serious conversations.

"I... know you don't want to talk about this, but we have to, okay?"

He sighs. "Oh boy."

"I think it's time you told me more about you... how you ended up here. Why. For how long." She frowns as she thinks about that. "How long are you supposed to be here, anyway?"

He swallows, looking away. "The only way I'm leaving here, Tris, is in a body bag." His words make her shake, and he rubs her back. "I'm sorry. You didn't need to hear it like that."

"Can you tell me... why?" she asks. Her voice is shaking, like she's about to cry.

"Murder," he says, his word clipped and flat.

She studies him. "That's it... just _murder." _Her voice is steady again.

"_Just _murder," he echoes. "I'm done with this topic."

"You didn't do it, did you?" she asks.

He glares at her so intensely, that she is reminded of why she was afraid the first time she saw him.

She looks away from his glower. "If you ask Caleb what he did to get in here, he'll tell you exactly what he did, who he stole from, everything. If you ask any prisoner why they came, they'll give you the reason, not just the charge. But you are not a liar. You will never admit to something you didn't do. Will you?"

He stands so quickly that she almost falls off his lap. "Stay out of it," he growls. "I'm telling you to stay _out _of this."

"I... don't understand," she whispers. "Why are you in here if you didn't...?"

"I'm here because that's how shit happened. It doesn't matter anymore. My life was over long before I ended up in this place."

"I don't believe that."

"Well believe it!" He turns away from her, his hands gripping the bars so tightly, his knuckles are white. "I'm here because this is where I deserve to be. I will never leave, and I've accepted that. I'll never be good for you, and I'll never be with you, and that has always been the truth. But..." When he turns back, he sees that tears are running down her face, making it shine in the clinical fluorescent light. He grits his teeth. "See? This is the only thing I'll ever be good for."

"That's not true!"

"I thought you said I'm not a liar. Either I am, or I'm not."

"You're not a liar. You just... don't see yourself clearly."

"And you do?!" he snorts. "You've been blinded by this... lust, and this false sense of security, since the moment you saw me. _I _am _not _good like you think I am. I am _not _innocent."

"But you still didn't do it," she says, her voice coarse from her tears. "And I still... I still love you."

He shakes his head. "No. No, no you don't. You don't, and you can't. You can't, and you don't, and you won't love me because I am _scum _you found in a prison, not a man you're supposed to love."

"Bullshit!" she screams. "Do you think I care what you've done?! Do you think I care about the flame on your neck or the prison tattoos or the fact that you can't talk about your past? If I cared about any of those things that you believe make you so dirty and unlovable, I would have left when you told me and _never _come back!" She wipes her face with her hand. "Every time you've looked at me, every time you've kissed me, and touched me, it hasn't been some disgusting lowlife. It has been someone that is capable of amazing things. You aren't scum, and you don't deserve to be here." She draws a deep breath. "Four... I can help you. I can help you see the truth, and I can help you get out of here. Please... please don't put yourself down anymore. Please let me love you."

He swallows, and his dark eyes are full of tears. She moves toward him, but he steps back. "No," he says hoarsely. "Stay away from me. Leave," he says, his voice cracking sharply over the word. "Leave... and don't ever come back."

She stares at him, watching as his face fills with defeat. It spills from his eyes with his tears, and hers well up in response. "You don't mean that," she whispers.

"Yes I do."

"No you don't... you don't mean it. You're upset. You don't mean it."

"Yes I do," he snaps.

She tries not to sob, but the pressure inside her chest is so intense that the only way to release it is with that ugly, noisy breath. "Why?" she begs.

He wipes at his face with his sleeve. "Because... because _I _love _you," _he says, his voice so quiet she barely registers the words. "Don't come back here. Forget we had this conversation, forget you ever knew me."

"I can't do that."

"You're going to have to," he says flatly. "Because I'm going to forget about you."

"You won't. Please don't."

He clenches his fists. "I'm not letting you get involved in this. I'm not letting you. And if forgetting you is what it takes, you better believe I will do it."

"I'm a grown person and I can do whatever I want. You aren't going to stop me from finding the truth."

"And what good will the truth be to me if you're dead?!" He shouts, slamming his fist on the table. "What will be the use? Huh? What will be the point of me being free from here if all I'll be able to see of you is the grass growing on your head and your name carved on a rock?"

Her lip trembles. "I'll find a way," she whispers.

"Don't be stupid," he snorts. "You're not taking on Dauntless on your own, and you sure as hell aren't doing it because of someone like me."

"Maybe I'm not alone."

"Maybe I don't give a shit," he snaps. "Maybe I like it in here. Maybe I'm happy here."

"Bullshit," she says angrily. "You aren't happy in here. You're rotting away in a damn prison for something you didn't do. Someone died, and _you _ended up in prison instead of the person responsible. You can't tell me that doesn't _sting _inside you like salt in your eyes or lime in a paper cut. You can't tell me you're content with being trapped in here while the person who did this is out there, destroying more lives." She crosses her arms over her chest. "I changed my mind. Maybe you are a liar, just a horrible one."

"I would rather stuck here than be free in a world where you don't exist anymore. Do you here me? I'd rather spend the rest of my life in this hellhole than wake up every morning to the idea that you died because of me. I won't allow it! I don't... I don't care about my freedom. I never had that to begin with." He growls, frustrated. "Just... go, okay? I mean it. Leave, and don't come back. If you come, I will tell the guards to kick you out."

"Four, I—"

"GET OUT!" he blazes, and she shrinks back, leaning against the bars of the small, caged room. "Just leave," he says brokenly.

The guards come to let them out, and the last thing she sees of him before she turns and runs is his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking with his sobs.

* * *

Will has seen a lot of people cry in his life. He sees people cry at the losses of their loved ones, sons and daughters, brothers and sisters. His sister cried when he told everyone he was going to the academy instead of getting his four year degree. He has seen men and women cry as they confess to ending the life of another person.

But _this..._ this is different. She showed up in the bullpen at about seven—just as he was getting ready to go home, her face thunderous and her blue-gray eyes raining tears and shooting lightning. "Tris?" He asked as she skidded to a halt in front of him. "Are you okay? What happened, are you hur—unh." He cut off with a moan as she swung, her open palm connecting with his face so hard he saw colors.

"You bastard," she growls. Her next swing landed in his gut, and he grunted with pain. He caught her by her upper arms before she could keep kicking his ass in front of the entire squad. "Stop, stop! Tris, stop it before I arrest you for assaulting a police officer."

She swung at him with her feet instead. "I hate you!" she screamed. "I hate you, you asshole! I hate you!"

Genuinely confused, he moved her toward an interview room where they could talk privately, setting her in a chair and sitting across from her, far enough that he could move if she launched herself at him again. But instead of raining blows on his face, she wrapped her arms around her knees and began to sob.

He doesn't know how long she's been sobbing, but the sound is so heart wrenching that tears form in his eyes too.

"Tris," he says in a whisper. "Talk to me. What happened?"

She sobs harder, her small body shaking with each choked breath. She gets up and scrambles for the trashcan in the corner, heaving into it.

He frowns. "Tris, I need to know what happened."

"You want to know what happened?!" she snaps. "I went to ask your precious fucking questions and he _broke up _with me! He doesn't want to see me anymore because of _you!"_

He expects her to hit him again, but instead she just slumps against the door, pushing her hair back from her face. "He hates me now," she whimpers. "He says he's going to forget me."

He squats next to her, pulling her into an embrace. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he whispers. "I didn't think he would react that way. You know why he said those things, don't you?"

She shakes her head.

"He said those things because he doesn't want to risk you getting hurt."

She stares at him in disbelief. "You're lying," she says. "You just want me to believe that so that I'll help you close your stupid case. Well I'll have you know I'm doing it anyway! I _will _get him out of there, and I don't care what you or anyone else has to say because I have nothing to lose anymore."

"Don't say that," he says. "We're going to find out what really happened, okay? I know you saw for yourself that he is innocent. Help me prove it. Can you do that?"

She nods.

"Okay. I'm sorry he said those things to you. I know he didn't mean them, but I'm sorry they've caused you so much pain. I didn't mean for you to get hurt."

"I'm sorry I hit you," she sniffs.

He chuckles. "You pack quite a punch, let me tell you. Somehow, I think you'll be just fine. Let's bust us some bad guys, shall we?"

* * *

"Did he say anything to you about what happened?"

"No... he shut me down right out the gate."

He sighs. "He's probably been forced to keep his mouth shut about it."

"Will you tell me about... the person Four is convicted of killing?"

He nods. "Her name was Joy Lynn Weber. Known in Dauntless only as Lynn. She was a runaway that Dauntless pulled off the street, transformed into a _working girl._ Her rap sheet starts with shop-lifting when she was fourteen, and by the time she turned seventeen, she'd been busted multiple times for prostitution. She'd be put in foster homes or group homes, but she'd just run away again. She was busted for possession at age seventeen. She used heavily and was busted repeatedly for about two years."

"She got clean after that?" Tris asks, curiously.

"Nobody knows. Nobody saw her again after that until she turned up dead in a warehouse. He was with her, knife in hand. Matched the stab wound she sustained in the chest. She had no new track marks, so the coroner assumed she hadn't been using drugs when she died. Which is why we found _this _odd when we exhumed her body. The coroner must have missed it."

He hands her a photo, and she cringes as she views the desiccated neck of a dead body—Lynn, she presumes. The body is mostly bone, but in what's left of the neck muscle there is a small hole, made visible by the stretching out of the rotting flesh. She gulps. "A... needle mark?"

Will nods. "But there was absolutely _nothing _in her toxicology report, not even a damn Tylenol."

"Why are you just looking at this now?"

He heaves a heavy breath. "When I approached you about this case, it was over the body of a young man—at first, we thought it was an accident. The guy's blood alcohol level was through the roof. We found him in his car in a ditch. But the new coroner found this..." He hands her another picture. Sure enough, there is a barely notable mark in his neck, more than likely from a needle.

"There have been dozens of cases—drug overdoses, drownings, car accidents, suicides... the works. They all have a needle mark in that same spot, but nothing in their toxicologies that indicate foul play. Shortly before I approached you, people died in a fire, and both had that needle mark. We only suspected Dauntless because a witness of the fire said there was a man fleeing the scene. He's described as having multiple body modifications and a tattoo of fire on his head.

"Our informants have been completely tight-lipped about this. So far, anyone who knows about these murders won't say anything without being guaranteed a one-way ticket out of town. Naturally, we can't do that, because if they give statements on the record, we'd need them to testify."

"That's why you wanted Four to find someone who would wear a wire?"

"Yes. There have been a few Dauntless that have wanted to leave in the months since I asked you to talk to him. They inform, but they turn up dead shortly after. One of these _Dauntless executions _is what turned us on to Janine Matthews. But we've dumped her phone calls and emails, we've gone through all her financials... everything we can think of, and there's no connection between her and anyone in Dauntless."

"Which is why you were asking if Four knows her."

"Correct again."

"If you want to _really _know everything about her, whoever she is, I think I know someone who can help."

"Who's that?" Will asks.

"Caleb. He can probably get into things that you aren't allowed to 'officially' see without anyone even knowing he was there."

"Caleb is convicted of fraud. Anything he gets us will be—"

"You wanted a criminal to do your dirty work," she snaps. "Now's your chance. Do you want his help or not? I'm going to visit him this week. If you want the help now is the time to speak up."

Will looks at his Boss. "Lieutenant Harrison?"

He shrugs. "Do it."

"Great! I'll let him know to expect you."

* * *

She sits on her couch morosely, watching comedy movies and eating ice cream with Christina. It was Christina's idea, but it doesn't help. She keeps seeing the bodies every time she closes her eyes. Bloody bodies, bruised bodies, serene ones. Desiccated ones, like Lynn's. All of those bodies have no life in them. Some of them because she refused to talk to Four when she had the first chance.

She wonders who exactly that girl, Lynn, was to Four, and heat flares in her chest, like heartburn.

Is she really being _jealous _of a _dead girl? _She's pathetic. He doesn't even want her anymore, anyway.

"Okay. I'm seriously not going to sit here and get my laugh on while you're over there crying." Christina throws the afghan off her legs and scoots across the couch. "Will told me what happened," she says gently. "I don't really know what to say."

"He's not going to talk to me anymore," she says, sniffing into her own blanket. "Christina, you have to help me... _please. _I don't... I can't let him stay in there."

"What do you need from me, sweetie?"

Anger flares in her chest. "His lawyers didn't even try! They struck the first deal they could get and shuffled him off to jail without even trying. You need to be his lawyer."

Christina nods. "Okay. I get started on that tomorrow, okay? Listen to me, Will is going to get evidence that Four is innocent. We can take care of this and keep you out of it."

She shakes her head immediately. "Why would you even ask me that?!"

"Well, as Four's lawyer, which I am now, I have to look out for his best interest. And it's in his best interest that you _not _get yourself hurt or killed. So I have to ask. I can't force you, but I have to ask you not to do anything stupid."

"I'm not going to do anything stupid. I'm going to do what Will asks me to do. But I won't sit here with my arms crossed."

Christina takes Tris's hand. "Can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"This isn't about... I mean, you aren't insisting on this because of the se—"

"I'm insisting on this because I... can't just give up. I've never felt this way about anyone. It was four months! It's not that long, really, by anyone's standards. But he made me feel safer than anybody. He would kiss me, and I'd forget about everything—about work, and about being blocked, and about him being in jail, and... and I know I love him, and I can't just leave him in there. Even if..." she draws a trembling breath. "Even if I die... or if it's over and he still doesn't want me... It would be wrong to just forget about him. It would be wrong to leave him there. I just... I can't do that. I won't." She sniffles again. "Do you know... when he... he called himself _scum._ Can you believe that? He said that he's _scum._ If I left him now, I'd only be proving him right. He isn't worth nothing. He isn't _scum._ He's _mine,_ and I can't leave him in there. He isn't an animal at a damn petting zoo!"

"Okay," Christina says simply, pacifyingly. "Okay."

* * *

"Caleb."

"Tris... what happened to you?" His eyes widen in alarm. "Are you okay? You look like hell."

"I need your help," she pleads in a whisper.

"Of course, Bee," he mumbles. "Anything you want, you know that. Don't cry, sis. Tell me what you need, okay?"

"Four's in trouble," she whispers. "He's here because someone set him up."

"Four's Dauntless, his people will take care of him."

"No... no, they're the reason he's in here. They turned on him, and if anyone finds out that we're trying to get him out, they'll kill him."

"And by 'we' you mean, _not _you," he says sternly.

"By 'we' I mean Will and his partner, Christina, and and me."

"Tris, listen to me. Those guys are bad. If they're not opposed to killing one of their own, they won't even blink about killing everyone included in your 'we'. Stay out of it. Do you hear me? Go on vacation somewhere until this is over."

"Caleb—please."

"Tris, I'm not getting involved in this, and neither are you."

"Don't tell me what to do," she snaps. "I need your help and I don't have a lot of time, if you and Four and everybody is right, and they do come after me, we need to get the evidence straight before they do."

"You're just... stubborn as _fuck,_ aren't you?"

"Yeah, well you and I come from the same damn branch of the family tree, so don't talk about being stubborn. I need yo looking out for me on this... please."

"What do I need to do?" he finally sighs.

"Will is going to want your computer skills in a couple days. You need to find out everything you can about this woman..." She slides a file across the table. "You need to find out everything about her and anyone she works with. They need to find out if she works for Dauntless."

He studies the file carefully, then nods. "When you get home, burn that."

She shrugs. "Sure."

"Anything else?"

"They need help... tracking her movements. Phone calls, emails, financials—which is obviously your favorite—all that kind of stuff."

He grins. "And here I thought the government hated my ability to stick my nose in other people's computer business."

"Well we need it now. Please."

"Okay. And what do I get out of this?"

"I don't know. You'll have to talk to the DA about that. Christina will help you."

"Okay."

"I love you, Caleb."

"Be safe, Tris. I love you too."

* * *

She is going to die out there, and he's not going to be able to stop it.

The thought creates horrifying images in his sleep at night, and keeps him from eating during the day. That slop is disgusting enough without him seeing her dead body over and over, hearing her screams echo in his ears still even though he is no longer dreaming.

Last night he watched her die. He was standing there when she crawled forward into a circle of light in front of him. She was bruised, bleeding. She was wheezing, and when she coughed, blood spewed from her lips. "Help," she whimpered.

Then the screaming started.

He struggled toward her, screaming her name, but the more he fought, the more hands and ropes and chains held him down until he couldn't move anymore.

He didn't know how much time passed before her screaming faded to desperate whimpers, and finally, silence.

The waste of beauty is incomprehensible to him. She's so damn crazy beautiful to him. She creates things with her mind and her hands that have caught the attention of the city of Chicago. People know that she is the most talented up-and-coming artist in the city, maybe even the state. She comes from a wealthy family and a relatively good home. She has friends that he loves to hear her talk about, and she has a life that is full of potential. _Why, fucking why _did she have to fall for him?! He's a waste of space. He knows that, he's been told that his whole life. Now he's here, and that's only proof that he's been a failure since the day he was born. But she wants to love him and set him free. He knows she won't be able to do both. If she is able to free him, she won't live long enough to love him. He will be the cause of her death, just like he was with Lynn. She's going to die, and all of her light and beauty and potential is going to go with her, and the world is going to be dark and useless. He doesn't want to live out there if that's what it's like.

"Your lawyer's here," someone says, and he looks up blankly. A guard is standing over him while he attempts to eat. He leaves the tray of whatever-the-hell-weird-kind-of-meat and follows him. His lawyer hasn't been here in nine years. It was some wet-behind-the-ears legal aid guy, and he knew the second he met the man that he was screwed. He doesn't want to see the damn bastard again in his life.

But it isn't the man sitting at the table when he enters the visiting room. It is a woman with cinnamon skin and dark, straight hair in a long-ish bob cut. She has brown eyes that are looking at him with understanding and irritation at the same time. "My best friend is a mess because of you. Have a seat."

He sits down. Holy shit, she's scary.

"This is how this conversation is going to go. I'm going to talk and you're going to keep your trap shut. You get used to that, because you're going to be doing a lot of keeping your trap shut while I get you out of this hellhole."

He nods once, but crosses his arms. Who does this bitch think she is, exactly?

"Don't get all testy," she says, raising her eyebrow. "You made Tris cry for days. The only thing that's keeping me from shoving my pen through your baby-making nuts is that she still plans on making babies with you some day."

Yikes.

"Now. My name is Christina Pedrad Arenas, and..."

"Pedrad?" He asks, interrupting. He's heard the name... oh yes, Tris's friend. Uriah, the one she always takes her car to.

"Yes. Uriah is my cousin. His Father and my mother are brother and sister."

"Oh."

"I'm going to be representing you now that your case has been reopened, at Tris's request, as well as Will's. Having a lawyer they can trust is important to them."

"Why is she doing all of this for me?" he mumbles. "I told her to leave it be."

"It isn't just about you. This is about potentially hundreds of other murders by the same people that killed your girlfriend."

He snorts. "I could have told you that. Dauntless is, at the bottom of everything, a _mob,_ a _gang, _and they kill people too."

"People are dying out there and you and me can put an end to this if you tell me what you know."

"I tell you what I know and you're going to be car-baked Christina after they blow you straight to hell. Besides, anything I tell you is privileged, so you can't go to the cops with it."

"Anything you tell Tris is not privileged, though."

"I'm not telling her anything! You _keep her out of this! _Do you hear me?! Keep her out of it!"

"She's already in it," Christina tells him. "Did you hear what happened to her car?"

He shakes his head.

"Someone vandalized it with spray paint. Wrote curse words and scribbles all over it... in black and red."

He puts his head in his hands, tugging at his hair. "They're watching her, aren't they. They're going to kill her. _Please _get her out of town. I know... I know I hurt her, I know I don't deserve her, but just... please don't let her die."

"We won't let anything happen to her, okay? But if they're watching her, the more you drag your feet, the more time they'll have to hurt her before we have what we need to get you out of here and get both of you safely out of town."

His shoulders slump in defeat. "Fine," he whispers. "What do you want to know?"


	7. Chapter 6

"_Fine," he whispers. "What do you want to know?"_

* * *

"I know just what will cheer you up, and you know you're going to need the target practice."

"What's that?"

"Paintball."

She smiles a little bit. "You think you can beat me this time, Uri?"

He smirks. "Consider yourself served, Short Stuff. I'll call Christina, and maybe Will and Fernando can come too."

"Sounds good."

"Hey, you can't be on the same team as both of them."

"Why not?!" She asks.

"Because I'm not trying to get my ass handed to me!"

"Fine. How about you be team captain this time? That way you can pick me."

"Well, you know what they say. If you can't beat 'em, join em."

She laughs. "Okay, Uri. We'll see about _you_ being on _my _team this time."

He pulls his cellphone out and his thumbs move so fasts she is sure they will catch fire.

Within moments, his phone begins to vibrate. "Christina... Matt... Marlene... Amar..." He waits for a second, and sure enough, his phone vibrates again. "Lauren, Shauna, Bud." He waits again. "Will and Fernando are in." He grins. "Looks like the gang's all going to be there."

She grins. "Let's do this."

* * *

When they arrive in the paintball arena, they suit up quickly and group together to decide teams. "Okay. Who are our team captains?"

Tris doesn't raise her hand or even draw attention to herself, but ten pairs of eyes turn to her, some confused, but most expectant. "What?" she mutters. "You don't actually think I want to be captain, do you?"

Uriah grins. "Just say yes, Short Stuff."

She fires her paintball gun at his foot. "I got your _Short Stuff—"_

"Ow! Alright, alright! Uncle! Jesus."

She smirks a little bit. "That's what you get," she grins. "And if I'm captain, I pick first."

"Okay, who else?"

There's some bickering and good-natured jostling, but then Will finally is elected team captain. He selects Amar.

Tris taps her chin. "Chris."

"Shauna."

"Lauren."

"Fer."

"Uri."

"Fucking yes!" he shouts, and Tris laughs as he joins her team. "Boo-yah! You all are going down."

Will just grins. "We'll see about that," he says. "Marlene, please join me."

She grins and skips toward him. Tris smiles at her. She's younger than the rest, only twenty two, but she might as well be twelve sometimes, she seems so childlike. She has long, dark hair with dyed silver and hot pink streaks. The younger girl is always full of laughter and jokes, and she likes having the girl with them on their games. She kept things friendly. Also, Uriah is desperately in love with her, but will never say anything about it. Without knowing it, she keeps him honest.

The rest of the people are relegated to their teams, and Uriah hands out the flags. "Okay, people! Set your timers. Each team has ten minutes to plan and hide their flags."

Tris grins, setting the timer on her phone. "Okay guys. How do you want to play this?"

The bickering and interjecting starts up almost immediately. Tris watches them for a moment, not being able to get a word in edgewise. She looks around, slipping away from the team. She studies the paintball arena meticulously, a plan forming in her mind. Then she returns.

"Okay guys, I've got the plan."

They're all silent immediately.

"There are places high enough here that one or two of you can lay on and hide at a time. Uriah, Matt, you guys are my snipers. You'll lay up there, over there, or on top of that thing." She points at the various things. "Lauren, you and I will be searching for the flag. Matt, you're with us."

"Where will we hide the flag?"

"We're going to shuffle it around. I will keep it, and hand it off to Lauren after two minutes. Lauren will hide it and give it to Christina, and she'll hand it back to me, and so on. One of us will have it on their person at all times," she says. "No one will know we have it, they'll be looking for it on something or under something. You two will be able to see the whole arena from up there. If you see someone from the opposite team, shoot. If you see the flag, shoot the defenders, and fire two extra shots so that we know where the flag is. Even if the other team can see you, it will be impossible for them to shoot you if you're laying down."

"Your plan is nuts."

"It will work. Just don't get shot. You guys are all faster and smaller than the people Will chose, except Marlene."

"This is incredibly ambitious."

Tris smiles. "Just stay hidden and keep moving. Be quiet, and . Uriah and Matt will be looking out for us."

They all nod, seeming dubious. "Okay. You have three minutes. Take your positions," she says to Matt and Uriah. They nod and scramble to take their place. "Matt, you cover the people on your side, I will cover the people over here.

Uriah smirks as he silently lays down. He's already spotted the flag and the two people guarding it. They will be his first targets. Tris has the flag and has moved toward that area to hide, so he will watch her.

The time ends, and he waits, not wanting to give Tris away. Once she's secure and Lauren has taken her hiding place, he fires on the two guards. They both identify Uriah's yellow paint and look around for him. He lays flat and hides his gun, silently laughing at their confusion as they shuffle off to the side, removing their coveralls and complaining that they got taken out right away. When they are gone, he fires two more rounds at the wall, marking the spot where the flag has been hidden behind a group of crates.

Lauren moves silently toward Tris, and Tris moves toward the flag.

Amar jumps up and points his gun at Lauren, but Matt shoots him before he can fire. "What the fuck?" he says, frowning at the blue paint on his arm and chest. "Where'd that come from?!"

Uriah is startled by Tris shooting again. There's only one member of the other team left, so his team decides to converge on the target just by simply running fast. Lauren takes the flag from Tris, stuffing it inside her coverall, and falls back. Matt hops down from his hiding place, grinning.

Tris straightens out of her crouch, walks into the open, and takes the flag. "We win," she says simply.

"How'd you guys do that?!" Fernando asks, frowning. "You took us all out before we even knew where all of you were."

Will grins and kisses Christina, congratulating her for slaughtering his team. She just smirks.

"Wait, where'd you hide the flag?"

Tris grins smugly. "I think those are tricks we'll keep up our sleeve."

"Oh come on!"

"Well if you must know—and shame on you, Will and Fernando, because I thought you guys would have thought of this—we put Matt and Uri up as lookouts... as _snipers. _They took out the guards for your flag in less than a minute. That's how we knew where your flag even was."

Will frowns as he considers this. "This girl is fucking dangerous, Fer," he says finally.

"No shit," he snorts.

Uriah claps her gently on the back. "Way to go, Captain Short Stuff."

"Let's play again," someone says, and they all cheer.

Will's phone rings, and he fumbles with his coveralls to answer it, turning away from the group. "This is Detective Shannon." He frowns. "Where is he? No, she's here with me. I will tell her. Thanks, Lieutenant." He turns to face them again. "You, you, and you are with me. Sorry folks, we've got to go. I'd love to play with you all again," he says sincerely.

Tris, Christina, and Fernando follow him, confused. "What's going on?!"

"I'll explain in the car. Chris, I hope you've got your stuff."

"What's going on, Will?!"

"It's about Four. There was a brawl in one of the common rooms of the prison."

Tris feels her throat constrict, as if tentacles had wrapped around it and squeezed with all their might. The tentacles lace their way around her lungs and creep down her spine, making her tremble. Her vision swims, and she stumbles.

Fernando's grip on her keeps her from falling, and he gently guides her the rest of the way to the car.

Christina frowns. "Is he alright?"

"They've transferred him to the prison ward at the hospital—I don't know anything else. As of right now, because it's the prison ward, he has security guards with him at all times, but I'm going to have our guys watch him, okay? People I trust. Until he gets back, I will personally make sure that he's well guarded so that no one can hurt him. Tris, look at me." She does, but he's very blurry. "He's going to be alright. I will make sure of it. Okay?"

She nods. "Okay," she whispers.

* * *

He groans in pain as his eyes open. _What the fuck happened?! _Oh right. Someone went at Rock, and then all hell broke loose. Someone hit him over the head with a damn chair or something.

His head. _Holy fuck..._ He grimaces as his head throbs in protest to the beating he received. He moves to put his hand over his eyes, but his hand stops short. He looks down at it in bewilderment to find a tan cuff around his wrist—restraints. He's a prisoner, of course he has fucking _restraints_.

The lights are too bright.

_Fuck my life,_ he thinks, shutting his eyes.

A nurse walks in, and he practically begs her to turn off the lights. She does, when she's done checking his blood pressure and all that other stuff. There's a tiny contraption she uses to stab his finger, and he winces as blood gathers into a large drop at the top of his middle finger. He wants to flip her off with it, but decides against it. He's not _always _an asshole. Everything just hurts.

She leaves after announcing that, aside from his moderate concussion, he is in excellent health. She flips off the light, and he sighs in relief.

When he opens his eyes, he grins. He must be dreaming, because after he told her off like that, there's no way she'd be here, touching his face with so much gentle, soothing care. Her fingers are tracing the marks on his arm. Her hand moves from his face to take his hand instead. She's so... not _pretty, _pretty isn't the right word. She isn't just like those other sluts, pretty with fake perfect boobs and fake colored hair, and fake lines around their eyes and fake everything. She's... naturally striking. She's _beautiful._ She's also crying.

Shit. This means he isn't dreaming, and she's really here. _What is she doing here?!_

"I thought I told you to leave me alone," he mumbles.

"I thought you knew me well enough to know I'm not going to just do that," she says, but she still looks hurt.

He wants to touch her, but he settles for squeezing her hand, already in his. "I... I'm sorry."

She gives him that tiny, unsatisfying smile. "I know."

"You still can't stay here."

"You can't tell me what to do, mister."

He smirks. "Snippy as always, are you, Little Sparkler?"

"Fuck you."

"Would that I could," he mumbles. "I'm always going to love you, do you know that?"

She swallows and nods.

"Good." With his finger, he motions at one of the police officers outside the door. "She can't stay," he says.

She glares at him, shocked. "What the fuck?!"

"Get her... get her out of here. S-send her home."

The officer looks at his companion, who shrugs. Then he reaches for her arm, and she pulls away from him, violently. "Don't fucking touch me," she hisses. "I can walk myself out."

The officer steps forward again, but she moves around him and toward the door. "You're a jerk," she whispers to Four. "I wish I could hate you. Don't _touch _me, I said, don't fucking touch me!" she snaps at the police officer before addressing Four again. Tears well in her eyes. "I wish I could hate you, so that I could just leave you. But I'm... I can't do that." She draws a deep breath. "I won't see you again," she whispers. "I'll help with your case if it's necessary. But when you're free, I'll be gone."

He grits his teeth as the shooting pain in his chest echoes the one is head.

She walks past the officers, her whole body shaking. _This is killing her._ He squeezes his eyes shut.

"For what it's worth," says the officer, not unkindly, "you're an idiot."

He stares at the railing of the hospital bed, suddenly feeling empty. "She's better off without me, without all this bullshit. I'm not an idiot. She thinks... she thinks she can free me, but she's wrong. I will always be a prisoner, even if I'm not in jail. She doesn't need my shit."

"Everyone has shit," the officer says reasonably. "Anybody in my line of work has more shit than most people. Anybody in _your _line or work has shit too. But when you love someone it isn't always unicorns farting rainbows and shitting sunshine. When you love someone, it's because you've accepted them, with their good and bad parts, their strengths, and their weaknesses, and their... _shit._"

"She doesn't even know what my shit is. How can she have accepted it?"

"Well if you never told her, then you never even gave her the choice to accept or walk away."

He looks at the officer with a frown. "What do you mean?"

"I understand... that your being in prison complicates things a lot. But if your crime isn't the only thing that you carry, maybe it's time you let someone else share the load, for a change. The longer you carry it alone, the heavier it gets."

Four stares at the railing again, not saying anything else.

The officer gently pats his arm. "She'll be back, you know."

But he's wrong. He recognized the stubborn set in her shoulders, the determined look in her eyes. She won't be back. Even if they manage to prove his innocence, she'll be gone, and she won't make the effort to find him. He saw what he did to her when she walked away from him. _He broke her._ She'll never want him after this.

What's the use of being out of jail, anyway, if he won't have her?

* * *

Today, Christina, his new lawyer and Tris's best friend, is here. She's discussing things with him, but he's hardly listening. He's been back in the prison for four days. He was in the hospital for a week, but he's still recovering. Tris hasn't been back to see him. He's seen her here, visiting Caleb. He stayed at the entrance and just watched her, studied her hair and her face. Her eyes had dark circles around them, and she was more pale than her usual fairness. He hates that he's done that to her, but he knows she's strong enough to move on from him somehow. _She'll be okay,_ he tells himself over and over. _She's strong. She'll be okay._

"Four, snap out of it. Hey!" she waves her hand in front of his face. She sighs. "You brought this upon yourself, you know that? She's a hot mess, and clearly, so are you. Why don't you just let things run their course instead of being so fucking determined to push her out of this? You're going to succeed in a bad way, you know, and then you're going to hate yourself, because she'll be out of your life permanently. She'll be the one that got away _forever._"

"I don't need your lectures," he says. He wants the words to sting, but they have no energy behind them.

"She doesn't eat. She wakes up screaming or crying. Uriah has taken to sleeping on her couch so that she feels safe at night."

_She'll be okay. She's going to be alright. This is just a phase... a break up thing. She's okay, she'll be okay._

"She drew this. I took a picture when she wasn't looking." She reaches into her briefcase and takes out a photo. On it there is a large drawing, on a wooden floor leaning against a wall. The image is so vivid, so real, that he shifts uncomfortably. Is that what he looked like to her the first time she visited him? He looks so... _alive._

"I took these too... once I learned their origin, I thought it be right for you to see them." She pulls out various photos, each with a canvass that is framed and hanging on a wall, with a light shining on them. This must have been at her art show. He studies the intricate patterns, the ones she's traced a hundred times with her fingertips. He swallows.

"She hasn't been to her studio since this whole thing started."

He looks alarmed at that. _She abandoned her art?!_

"She has a sketchbook with her all the time, but I haven't seen her draw anything in a while."

He shakes his head. _It's a phase. She'll be okay. She's going to be fine._

"She refuses to go to the station to talk about the case, and she refuses to answer any questions about you. She refuses police protection, but she's terrified of being alone. She's packed her bags like a hundred times, but you _know _she won't leave." Christina bites her lip to keep it from trembling. "Will you please_... please..._ talk to her?"

Christina's _crying._ He didn't want _her _to get hurt by all of this. He scrubs his face with his hands. This is just... more proof of his failure, of his uselessness. He didn't want to hurt her, but he knew it was the only way she'd stay away from him. He didn't want all these people to hurt with her, and he certainly doesn't want them all involved in his beef with Dauntless. All of her friends are going to die because of him. He knew the second he touched his lips to hers for the first time that she had the power to break him, but he never in a million years imagined that he has that power over her, too. She seems too strong for that.

"Whatever it is that you're thinking, stop. You're being a drama queen. Just admit you messed up and _talk _to her."

He shakes his head, slamming his fist on the table as he stands. "Don't you _get _it?! If she _knew _everything about me, she'd—"

"She'd what?" Christina interrupts. "Hate you? Realize that you're not worth it? Let me tell you something, _Tobias Eaton._ I know exactly who you are and everything you've been through, and I'm still working your case... for free, might I add. If _I _think you are worth all of this, how could you possibly think _she _would reject you? You know she has more humanity in her left pinky than the two of us combined."

He wants to just admit that she's right, but his entire body is rejecting the idea that he could possibly be worth anything, especially someone like her.

He slumps back into his seat, his head in his hands.

_His hand gripped his shoulder painfully, before pushing him to the ground. "Out of my way, you worthless turd!" _He was only six.

"_You're completely fucking useless," he growls. "Get out of my sight." _He was nine... two weeks before his mother died. Before his mother was _murdered._

The memories pour through him like acid.

"_This is for your own good," he says lowly. "Maybe you'll fucking get it through your thick skull." _That night, he beat his twelve-year-old son until he bled.

"_I will kill you, you stupid piece of shit!" he screams, raining blow after blow on his face, on his shoulders, on his back. "You're _nothing!_ Nobody will even miss you."_

He's shaking so hard his teeth chatter and his vision is not stable.

"_If I never see your ugly worthless face again, it will be too soon." _That was the night he ran away. The night he became _Four._

Why did he run? Why didn't he just let his father kill him? He could have save everyone a world of pain.

Christina watches him fight with the knowledge he's had his whole life. She touches his shoulder and he stiffens. "You need to talk to her," she whispers. "You need to tell her everything."

* * *

Caleb frowns as he picks at his food. Four is sitting with them, but he might as well not be. He doesn't even have a tray.

The trip to the police headquarters where Detective Shannon works finally was processed and arranged, and he traveled down there while Four was still in the hospital.

He cringes. That fight was brutal. He was lucky he managed to learn a thing or two from the guy, or else he wouldn't have been able to pull the maniac that was braining him away before the fucker killed him.

He learned a lot of things about Four in that place. Things that made him understand why he is so against answering questions and talking about himself. If he'd been through half that shit, he'd keep his mouth shut, too. Suddenly he was actually grateful that his parents weren't around enough to give a shit about him or Tris.

For the first time in his life, he feels protective of someone other than his sister. This guy will need the friends he has in here, and he is determined to be the best one he can be. He's determined to keep the older man safe somehow, the only way he knows how.

That's why, when he was at the precinct, he hacked the prison's records and shuffled the money his sister usually put in for him all into Four's account. He also made up a new cell roster for his block, and the block of the guy that almost bashed his brains in. Needless to say, Four would be sleeping like a baby after that, and the fucker that hit him... well...

Four seemed happy enough with the new arrangements when he returned, but even until now, he hasn't said a single word, not to anyone. He just sits with with his chin in his hands and stares dully at the wall, or at his tray, or at the numbers on the shirt of whoever is across from him that day.

After lunch is visiting, and he waits for Bee—Tris, her name is _Tris._ She looks pale and tired like she has for the past couple of weeks. When he sits in front of her, he makes sure the guard isn't looking, and he squeezes her hand. "I'm sorry," he says.

"Yeah, me too," she mutters in response. She waits a beat. "How are you?"

He smirks. "You mean, how is he? He's depressed as hell, but he's fine. They keep sending him to the infirmary to get his head checked, but as far as I know, he seems to be getting better. He hasn't spoken a word to anybody since he got back though. He looks like hell."

She frowns, and her body is tight with tension. "Why?" she asks.

"Maybe it has to do with whatever has you looking like shit too, sis," he says with a knowing look.

"You... you know we broke up."

"Yes, I know."

"I went to see him at the hospital and... and he had me thrown out."

He raises an eyebrow. "He did?"

She nods. "I'm just... I'm tired. I don't think I can do this, Caleb."

He grins. "Listen up, Bee, because I'm going to hit the playback button on everything you've told me. If there's anything I know about you, it's that you don't quit. You can do this, and you will because you're too stubborn not to."

"You're an ass," she says, but she doesn't mean it.

"I love you too. Come visit him, okay?"

"Why? For him to humiliate me again?"

"No. I don't think he will. Trust me on this, okay?"

She frowns. "Have you and Christina been planning something?"

He shakes his head, but a smirk plays at his lips. "Even if I did tell her anything, or she told me anything, I'm not allowed to tell you. Attorney-client privilege."

"Right. You're still an ass."

"Think about it, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," she mumbles.

"How's the case going? Have you heard anything?"

"Well, you got them into all her personal records, I heard."

"Even her medical stuff. Found out plenty about your boyfriend, too."

"Did you? Like what?"

He shakes his head. "Believe me, you'd rather hear it from him." He watches her expression carefully. _Hook, line, and sinker, _he thinks with a smirk. She's definitely going to visit him now, if for nothing else than to find out what his newest and darkest secrets are.

"Hey... you didn't hear this from me, okay? But someone told me... someone told me about his... _ex-girlfriend,_ the one that's dead."

"Who? What'd they say?"

"I can't tell you that but... they said that he dreams about her a lot. Nightmares, really bad ones. I didn't really understand that until... God, Tris, it's horrible. I've woken him up twice, and both times he looked like he's seen the devil himself. He never says anything but... whatever it is, it haunts him. You _have _to get him out of here."

"We will," she says determinedly. "We will."


	8. Chapter 7

"_...whatever it is, it haunts him. You have to get him out of here."_

"_We will."_

* * *

Tris is sitting on Uriah's work bench, laughing as he gloats about the paintball match. "That shit was awesome," he sings. "I was definitely a sniper in my other life." He tosses his towel at her and smiles. "Alright, Little Girl. Your baby is done. Her paint's all nice and shiny, and I just finished waxing her off."

"I'm not a little girl," she growls.

"Okay, then I'll stick with Short Stuff."

"Fuck you, Uriah."

"You're welcome, Five-two."

She glares at him, hoping her gaze will melt him while pulling out her checkbook, and he throws an arm around her shoulder. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry." He hugs her gently in apology, and she smiles at him.

"Thank you," she says sincerely. "For everything."

He smiles back. "Hey, you're always welcome. You know that. Now come on, let's go. I'm hungry." He grabs her hand and pulls her out the door, quickly setting his alarm and locking up everything.

She laughs at him as his stomach rumbles in agreement with his statement. "You're always hungry, do you know that?"

"I'm a growing boy," he says innocently, earning another laugh. "I'm happy you're laughing," he says sincerely. Then he smirks. "If I tell enough jokes, will you feed me?"

She smacks the back of his head, having to jump a little bit to reach. He pokes her and makes fun of her for being short, and then they walk down the street, laughing and joking, until they reach the Thai fast food joint at the end of the block.

She turns to say something to him, but something glints in the city light, catching her attention. She stares, waiting. Then the shadow moves.

Short, blonde hair, piercings everywhere that catch the light around them. Cold, uncaring eyes. Tattoos.

_She has seen that man before._

* * *

When her eyes meet his, he flies out of his chair and rushes toward her, stopping abruptly in front of her. He searches her face for a long time, then he grits his teeth and sits down again.

She leans on the bars. Seeing him without touching him is sort of excruciating, actually. But she can't allow him to push her out and pull her in as he pleases. So she crosses her arms and tightens her hands round her biceps so that they don't reach for him instead.

He is still in pain, but she can see that he is getting better. The bruising along his cheekbone and jaw has faded to a dull greenish-yellow, and the knuckles of his left hand that were split are healed. The cut along his eyebrow is now an angry, pink line. "How do you feel?" she asks, even though she's assess his condition for the most part.

"Like I got my ass kicked," he says with a snort. Then he takes a breath. "Doing better. How, uh... h-how about you?"

She shrugs. "Alright, all things considered," she says tiredly.

"Good."

The silence between them is so awkward that it sharpens the pain in his head and in his ribs. He stands anyway, moving toward the door—his door, the one that leads inside the prison. He wraps his fingers around the bars, squeezing tightly. They are painted gray, but rusted iron shows through most of the paint, making them look more red than gray. The rusted metal is rough under his hands, but he doesn't care. He likes it. It gives him something to focus on so that he doesn't have to think about just how far he's pushed her. It is a while before he moves. He's taking off his wifebeater.

Her eyes widen as she takes in Four's back. She is stunned. No, not at the dark lines and knots that make their way down the left side of his back, framing the words "fear God alone", or the the dauntless flame that is drawn where his spine meets his neck. She stares in shock at the white lines scattered across his back, stretched and faded with time. Some of them are raised—she felt them the time they...

But she never in her life imagined this.

Tears have filled her eyes, but she blinks them away before they flow. _Who did this to him? _She doesn't know what to think, or even if there's something to think about. She isn't sure if she wants to know _how..._

"The earliest memory I have of my mother is hearing her cry in the bathroom. Back then, I never knew why, just that she and my father would argue, and then she'd go to the bathroom to cry. As I got older, I used to hide under my bed when they would fight. I'd hear the sounds, but I never knew what they meant. Only that afterwards, my mother would go to the bathroom to cry. I was six the first time I saw him hit her."

Tris shakes her head, unwilling to accept the words coming from his mouth. She wants to scream at somebody, anybody. _Hasn't he been through enough?!_

He continues, his voice empty, like he left his soul out at sea after a shipwreck. "He knocked her to the ground. He dragged her into the kitchen by her hair and made her kneel over something she had apparently dropped. I was going to go clean it up—I just wanted them to stop fighting. I just wanted him to stop pulling her hair like that. But they both screamed at me to leave, so I went outside and hid in the neighbor's treehouse until night time. When I went back inside, the mess was cleaned up, and my father was sitting on the lazy boy in the living room. He didn't even look at me. I think that was the first time I was grateful that he was ignoring me... the first of many times."

"Three days later, he said he was going on a trip. He was gone for the whole week." The smile that forms on his lips is distant and nostalgic. "We had the best time, my mother and I. We left our shoes on the floor, we made cookies, we went to the park, and she played on the swings with me. We sat on the swings for hours together. She'd make shapes in the wind and give them to me... air planes, butterflies, magic things. She let me swing really, really high, and then jump. And she caught me every time I jumped, even though her side was bruised. I don't think I've ever laughed so much in my whole life. She bought me... a gift. I didn't know what it was, but she said it was for me, but that I should never tell Dad that I had it."

"What was the gift?" Tris asks hoarsely.

His smile disappears. "It was a sculpture, a blue glass paperweight that she bought from a glass blower on the street. It was shaped like... like water, or like silk. When I looked through it, I could see the streaks of blue and the little bubbles and imperfections, but it was still so amazing to me...

"I asked her what it's for, what it does. Do you know what she said? She said, 'It doesn't do anything in particular. But it may do something in here,' and she put her hand to my chest. She said, 'beautiful things sometimes do.' I didn't know what that meant, but I hid my blue glass under the bed, and I stared at it almost every night, when I'd hide under the bed while he hurt my mom. I waited for it to do something in there, like she said. But it never did. All it did was amaze me enough to distract me from her pain."

"I'm sorry," she whispers, because she doesn't know what to say.

"Don't. Don't pity me," he says harshly. "I don't want it."

She shakes her head immediately. "It isn't like that," she whispers. How could she explain the way the blood vessels, muscles, and nerves of her lungs and heart seem to have wound themselves into one tangled, painful knot and migrated to her stomach? How does she explain how _angry _she is that he's been carrying this his _whole life _ and _no one bothered to notice?! _She wants to scream at whatever powers that be that they have failed, that they should have cared more for him this. God dropped the ball with him.

He turns and watches her, not letting go of the bars. His smile returns tenfold, more full of gratitude and love. "It really isn't like that, is it? From the beginning, you never treated me with anything other than respect and humanity. You have no idea how much that means to me." He turns back to the bars, resting his forehead against them. "The first memory I have of my father is when I was three year old. I stepped on his toe—not knowing that he'd stubbed it on something—and he slapped me right in the ear, so hard my head rung for days. He told me I was stupid, and I cried the rest of the day. I don't know which hurt worse, that he hit me that way or that he called me stupid. I told my mom and she went to him. And then they fought, and I hid. That was sort of the story of my life. Eventually, I just stopped telling her about the names he would call me, or the way he'd pinch me when I was too loud or in his way, or that he pushed me to the ground when I was five years old, and stepped on my hand until it turned blue because he caught me trying to take crackers from the cabinet. Actually, I told her about that one, but only because she insisted I tell her. He broke her nose that time.

"I got older, I started to keep my ear to the door instead of hiding. When the... fighting... would be over, I would sneak out of my room and go to the bathroom. At first my mother would make me leave, but then, as time went on, she'd just cry with me, or let me bandage her knees and her hands, and clean her face. She would always say 'thank you' like they were the most important words she would ever say to me." He draws a shuddering breath. "Towards the end, she'd be gone when I got home, and I would hide so that he wouldn't know. I'd show my face only when mom was around, and so he always thought that she was picking me up at school... but she wasn't. She was going somewhere, although I don't know where." He hadn't noticed until now that he's crying. But his face is wet and it feels slimy from the tears, so he takes his shirt from the floor where he threw it and cleans his face. "I... I came home from school once, and he was kicking her. I was... _angry. _I didn't want to see her like that. So I pushed him, and he fell. He glared at me so hard I thought I was going to spontaneously combust or some shit. I ran before he could hit me, and I hid in my closet that time, until he was done hitting my mother. That day she didn't make it to the bathroom. She was laying on her side on the living room floor when Dad went to bed. She was bleeding all over her face, so I brought her paper towels and helped her clean the blood out of the carpet. I laid down with her on the floor and..." He swallows. "And, she put her arms around me and told me to be strong. I fell asleep in her arms on the floor." He squeezes the bars tightly. "My father woke me up in the morning. He grabbed me by my hair and pushed me to the stairs to get ready for school... she was still laying there just like she was the night before. When I came home in the afternoon, my father told me that my mother was dead because she was stupid and worthless, just like me."

Tris grits her teeth. "He killed your mother..."

He lets go of the bars, holding his wrist out to her. "I... got this because I don't even know where he left her body. She never even got a proper burial. So... I gave her one. She's buried in my skin."

She stares at the lily, white rose, and gray cross on his arm. There is a name on the cross: _Evelyn_. She doesn't want to believe what she is hearing, because there's no way that, on top of all of the _cruelty_ and betrayal that he's suffered, he could not have lost his only defender that way. He could not have _seen _his mother's _murder._ She is so angry, she can feel herself vibrating. But there is something else, too. She is afraid. Someone this hurt and betrayed and given up on could _never _trust anybody again. Not ever. She's been a fool to trust a virtual stranger with something as personal and intimate as her devotion, and she knows it. But it is too late; he has stolen her heart, and she's afraid that she will spend the rest of her life waiting for him to see that she wants to love him as wholly and purely as he deserves, and that he will continue to push her away. She has a lot of things to think about.

"When... did he... I mean, when did you get the scars?" The last word feels like sandpaper in her throat.

He shrugs. "I'm not really sure, to be honest. One or a hundred of the fucktillion times he hit me. He... um... the next day, I was late, and he hit me with the belt. He did it almost every day. Because I was late, because I was early, because I walked up the stairs too loud, because I'm an embarrassment, because I'm too stupid, because I'm too smart-mouthed, because I'm a waste of space... because I'm nothing but a problem that people have to deal with, because—"

"Stop," she snaps. "Listen to me, and listen good, because I'm going to say this once. You are _not _an embarrassment. You are _not _stupid. You are _not _a waste of space. _You are not a problem. _Do you hear me? You're _not _worthless. _I don't care _what that asshole said to you to make himself feel good about hurting a defenseless child. They were lies, do you hear me?! Lies!"

"Okay, Little Sparkler," he whispers. "What am I, then?"

"You're strong. And you're brave... braver than anybody I've ever met, and stronger than anybody, because nobody could live through... _all of this..._ with as much grace as you've managed to maintain until now."

He snorts. "If you wanna call it _grace, _then..."

"That's what it is. I don't know... _how _you managed to adapt to living in here without losing your entire identity."

"How do you know I didn't?"

"Because when I met you, you knew exactly who you are and what you wanted. You're Four, and I'm me, and you knew that you and me were going to be together one way or another."

He stiffens. "Were?"

She sighs, and he tenses even more. "Four, I... I can't do this," she says quietly. "I can't let myself be with you while waiting for you to push me away again at the first sign of danger. I... know you've been through... so much _hell..._ but I think we both... need some time to heal, and to think... and we both need to focus on your case."

"You're breaking up with me," he says plainly.

She shakes her head. "No. I'm just saying, not now. Not yet."

"If not now, then when?" he asks in exasperation.

She smiles, but it is without humor. "I've been waiting for you to open up to me like this for months. It is _your_ turn to wait for _me_."

He sighs. "I guess I deserve that." He crosses the room then, his body so close to hers she has to press herself into the bars to breathe, much like the first time she ever came to visit him here. "I'm going to wait," he says stubbornly. "I'm not going to be... I'm not going to stop loving you."

She smiles at him. "I know," she breathes.

"Can I kiss you?"

She leans up and presses her lips to his cheek, sighing in relief that she can touch him. He sinks his hands in her hair, breathing deeply before kissing her forehead in response. "I love you," he says.

_I love you too. _But she's afraid to say the words out loud. After a beat, "You know... you never told me your name. Your _real _name."

"Right," he mutters, his expression pained. "Tobias."

"That's your name?" she whispers.

"Yes," he mumbles. "Tobias Eaton."

She smiles brightly at him. "You have... a beautiful name. Can I call you that?"

He swallows, stepping back and turning away from her. "When you're ready to say you love me again, you can call me by my name." His fists clench, and he hangs his head.

The guard comes to retrieve him, and he steps out without saying goodbye.

* * *

"You _knew _about this and you didn't tell me?!"

"Yes. I couldn't tell you! Matter of fact, I still can't talk to you about it. I'm his lawyer, I have a duty to him."

She rubs her temples. "You're right. I'm sorry. You're right. I just... _how... _I don't understand how someone could have gone through so much cruelty."

"How much did he tell you?"

"He told me about his parents... about his mom. He showed me his scars. Wait. You_ are _going to help him go after his father, aren't you?"

Christina nods, her face grim. "As soon as Four is cleared, we're going to go after his sperm-donor in criminal and civil court. I want to fuck that bastard up so bad I can taste it. I can't believe I voted for him."

Tris tilts her head, frowning. "His name was so familiar to me... when I figured out he's the Senator, I realized that my dad..." she swallows. "When we go after Eaton, we'll ruin my father."

Christina snorts. "Your _father?_ Your father never gave a care enough to pay some damn attention. Maybe if he did, his son wouldn't be in prison. So I say, with all due respect and no offense intended, _fuck _your dad."

Tris smirks. "None taken." Then she gets serious. "What if my dad knew about it?"

"What?"

"Think about it," she whispers. "How come nobody has ever heard of Marcus Eaton's wife? How did the entire political world not jump on his back the second she went missing?"

Christina looks at her, her naturally warm brown eyes cold. "How long has your father been working for him?"

"All my life."

"That would make you about six when Evelyn was killed. Do you remember anything suspicious from about that time?"

Tris shakes her head. "No. Not at all."

"Does your mom know her?"

"Probably not."

"Who could have possibly known her? You know, I had my investigator search for everybody named Evelyn Eaton, and there was nobody that fits the description that Four gave of his mother."

"I'm sensing a but."

"But... there was an Evelyn Johnson that went missing at age fourteen from Spokane. She was presumed to be a runaway. The amber alert was never canceled." She reaches for a file on the coffee table and pulls out a sheet of paper, a missing person flyer.

Tris stares in disbelief. The girl's hair is dark like Four's, but long and curly. Her eyes are a dark brown that is almost violet. Her eyebrows are just the same as his, the shape of her nose, the olive glow of her skin, the way she has her head tilted in the picture... "This is his mom," she says, tears filling her eyes.

"I know. I showed him the flyer, and he asked me to get him a copy."

"He really misses her," she whispers. "I'll do even better," she says, taking the flyer. "I will paint one for him." She touches the girl's smile. "I'm going to give him that. Some day, I will."

"I sent someone to talk to her family back there, but I haven't heard anything yet. Four... wants to change his last name. He wants to use his mother's name."

"Really?"

"Would _you _want that asshole's name?"

She shudders. "No, probably not."

"Thought so. I told him one thing at a time, though. You know? Anyway, there's no record of an Evelyn Eaton having existed or married, but there is a paternity claim for Four. It's safe to assume that he never legally married her, and had to go through court to claim his child."

"Why would you want a child if you aren't going to love him?" Tris asks, mostly to herself.

"I don't know, girlfriend. But he's going down. Rest assured, I'm already collecting evidence and witnesses, working with the US Attorney's office to come down on him with the wrath of God. This case is going to be bulletproof enough to win in Congress."

"How about getting him acquitted?"

"That's going a bit slow. Your brother hacked everywhere from traffic cameras to the damn Interpol looking for records of that Janine woman. He got into her medical files, every single penny she's moved or spent since she opened her first bank account when she was ten, everything. By the way, your brother has proven to be very helpful with Four's case, too. Anyway, It's a lot of information to move through. But they're establishing patterns of travel in the traffic cameras. They know the routes Janine takes to work, the places she goes for gas, food, and even her damn hair salon. They know when she gets home and when she get to work... and what she does on the weekends." She smirks. "There's this dirty little club on the south side that she spends an awful lot of time in. Will's got a couple of UCs going there tomorrow, to scout the place out. The next thing they're going to go through is her personal stuff. Social networks, medical records. They should be done with that by the end of next week."

Tris nods. "Okay."

Christina throws an arm around her friend. "Lighten up, girlfriend. He's got you and me, now."

"And my brother," Tris says thoughtfully.

"My guess is that if he helped with Four, he knows about his past, too. Caleb told me that he has really bad dreams. I heard it in his voice, he's... he's willing to help with whatever you guys need."

"Aww. Caleb is growing up a little, isn't he?"

"It's the first time I've heard him talk so seriously about anyone. He really cares about what happens to Four." She grins. "But then, Caleb is a giant softy once you get past his outer assholishness... if that's a word."

Christina giggles. "If he weren't in jail and I weren't with Will, I'd totally do him."

"LA LA LA LAAAAAAAA!" Tris puts her finger in her ears and yells at the top of her lungs, drowning out Christina's laughter.

* * *

"So... that was my first week after my mother died."

Tris tightens her fists, her knuckles white with the tension.

"Don't do that," he says gently, reaching across the table where they are seated. He takes one of her fists and pries it open, rubbing the nail marks out of her palm with firm but tender fingers. He does the same with her other hand, massaging until it's returned to its normal color. Then he tangles his fingers between hers. "Better?" he asks in a whisper.

She smiles. "Much. Thank you."

He smiles back, but then his smile fades and he stares at their hands, stretched between them. "After that, every day he'd yell at me. Once I got a C on a test, and he just... _flipped _out. He spent the rest of the day telling me that I was going to fail at life, and that I'd never be good enough for anything. Then he took his belt out from his pants, and do you know what he had the nerve to say? He said, 'this is for your own good.' When he said those words, I always knew that what came next was going to make me sore for days. That time, he drew blood.

"I contemplated running away once, when I was twelve. I actually tried it. Made it all the way to the train station before the police made me go home." He shudders. "That night he told me that stupid little kids like me don't survive on the street alone, and that he was going to show me just what happened to idiot, half-brained retards like me that ran away and got taken in by the wrong people. He hit me with the buckle side of his belt, all over my back and my legs, until I had to bite my arm so that I wouldn't scream." It is then that Tris notices that the arm without tattoos has a thin set of curved lines on his wrist, near his thumb. She stares at them in horror until he lets go of her hand to cover the marks with his own. "After he was done hitting me, he made me sleep in the closet in the hall. I don't know how long I was in there. He didn't even let me out to pee."

"What an animal," she mutters.

"Yeah well, you knew that when you saw my back."

She glares at the table. "I knew that the first time you told me that I wasn't going to do this for you... as if you were less human than everybody else in here." She swallows. "You keep saying those things... that you never had freedom to begin with, that your life has been over for a long time." She grits her teeth as her eyes well up. "That's not true, do you hear me?"

He sighs. "I'm glad that you... I'm glad that you think so."

"Why did you finally run away?"

"I guess I just... had it. I don't know. He smashed my blue glass. He found it, and he just... he threw it and it broke into like, four or five really big pieces. After he beat me, he left me there, and I glued the pieces together, with superglue I found once in my mom's things. Now it looks super warped, but... it finally does something in here."

She smiles at him. "More beautiful now that it's broken."

He searches her face, his dark blue eyes boring into hers. "Thank you," he finally says, his voice cracking. He clears his throat and continues. "After it was fixed, I packed my shit. Left my ID and my wallet. Left everything except my blue glass and a picture I had of my mom. Packed enough clothes and shoes to fit in a duffel bag, took my mom's favorite quilt out of the linen closet, and went out the window.

"I went to a homeless shelter across town. Kept my head down, wore a hat to make sure people wouldn't ask questions about me—I look a lot like my parents, and someone was bound to recognize me as that Eaton guy's kid—and I took a cot in the corner and stayed two nights there, not even moving to eat. I think I was in a little bit of shock. Some girl brought me a sandwich at some point... but I couldn't eat it. It was the morning I tried to leave that that dumbass jumped me and tried to steal my stuff. I didn't even notice that he was stabbing me at first, I just... kicked him where it counts, and then when he was doubled over, bashed my knee into his face. I think the only thing he managed to steal was my hat. The rest of the story I think you know."

She lets out a long breath. "What a story. Do you still have your blue glass? Your picture of your mother?"

He frowns. "I don't know. I had all the stuff moved into storage by my old lawyer but... I don't know what happened to it after that."

Tris nods. "I will have them look into it. Okay?"

"Thank you." He stands as the five minute warning is yelled. He kisses her forehead.

"Please be safe. I love you."

"Take care of yourself," she whispers as he presses his lips to her forehead.

There's a flash of pain in his eyes before he turns away. "You too, Tris."


	9. Chapter 8

**hey guys... sorry i was gone a couple days. had to travel for my cousin's graduation, and i didn't have wifi.**

**yes... this probably showed up in your inbox as chapter nine. it isn't... chapter nine will be out later tonight or early tomorrow. the reason why there is nine chapters now is not because you missed something, lol. i decided to add what's called an epigraph (a quote or poem that helps inspire or expand on the author's story or poem) to the beginning of the story. it is a song, which i know many of you all have heard, and i thought it captured the struggle that Four and Tris have in this story so well that i just had to include it somewhere. so i decided to do it that way so that new readers can get the full effect of it. I DON'T OWN THE SONG OR THE LYRICS so don't sue me. full disclaimers will be posted at the end of the story.**

**awesome, so now that that's out of the way, here's your chapter.**

* * *

"_Please be safe. I love you."_

"_Take care of yourself," she whispers as he presses his lips to her forehead._

_There's a flash of pain in his eyes before he turns away. "You too, Tris."_

* * *

Being back in her studio, she doesn't want to draw or paint her usual things. She feels a bit lost here. It is strange, because this has been her second home since she finished college and Caleb went to prison.

She looks around, her eyes finding the two oil pastel drawings she did of him when she found out that he was Dauntless. She smiles as she picks up the first one, but then she moves it toward the closet. She carefully covers it and places it on the shelf with all of the other things she's drawn that she'll never show or sell. That is actually a short list, but most of those art pieces are cathartic releases, drawn or painted during Caleb's trial or after break ups, or things of that nature. They are like her diary.

She repeats the process with the other piece, and then she turns to her purse. She finds her iPod, searching aimlessly for something, _anything_ that could be inspiring.

The title jumps out to her so much she actually startles a little bit. _Not With Haste._ She listens to the song, feeling her self get lost in the peaceful, hymn-like quality of the music. The words are poetic and hopeful, and they form images in her mind that she knows she'll be painting later.

She freezes.

_And I will love with urgency, but not with haste._

The man's voice is low, rough but sultry, like Four's voice, when he sings the final lines of the song. The words are rubber balls in her mind, bouncing around until they shatter her conscious thoughts and break through her chest, ruining the rhythm of her heart.

_And I will love with urgency, but not with haste._

She takes her pens out of their drawer and begins to draw.

* * *

"Hi."

"Uh... you lost?" The guy behind the counter is pierced everywhere and has tattoos over the majority of his body. He is pale, but it is clear that he is of Asian descent. His pierced eyebrow arches as he studies her.

She snorts. "No. I meant to come here. I want a tattoo."

"You?" The guy is staring at her dubiously. "Okay, then... What do you want?"

She pulls the folded drawing out of her pocket and hands it to him. He raises an eyebrow as he looks at it. "You drew this?"

She nods.

"You want a job?" he asks, only half joking.

She laughs. "I want it on my back." She points over her left shoulder with her right hand.

He nods. "Gimme a bit to make up a stencil for you, okay?"

"Sure..."

"Uh, Wu," he fills in. "George Wu. But most people call me Wu."

"Nice to meet you," she says kindly. "I'm Tris."

"Well, Tris, this is sort of badass, and more complicated than you make it look. Give me a while, okay?"

"Take your time," she smiles. Then she sighs. "It's not like I have any place else to be."

It takes him a while to get it just right. When he does, he smiles at her. His smile is warm and makes his brown eyes crinkle around the edges. She is asked to take off her shirt, and she turns beet red, but takes it off without hesitance. George turns around while she's removing her bra, and only turns back when she's comfortable and covered on the tattoo chair. He applies the stencil to her back and she grins when she hears the tattoo needle begin to buzz.

The pain is worse than she remembers, but she grits her teeth and holds still. She wants this to be perfect.

He lets her take a break after an hour, and she quickly uses the bathroom and answers the two dozen frantic text messages asking where she is, if she's okay, and why she hasn't checked in with anyone. She answers them all with the same response: _I dnt have 2 chk in with u. I'm 27._

Christina calls back immediately. "Fuck you, Tris! We're worried as shit about you! Where the hell are you?!"

"Uh... a tattoo shop a block and a half down from my studio. What the hell is your problem?!"

"My _problem _is that someone just burned your apartment to the fucking ground and nobody's been able to reach you the whole day! Where the hell were you?!"

She freezes. "Someone did what?" She asks numbly.

"Your apartment is on fire," she snaps. "You heard me, dammit."

"I... okay... I'll be there... I'll be there... fuck," she whimpers.

Christina sighs. "I'm sorry. Just... wait, what are you doing at a tattoo shop?"

"Getting a tattoo, duh."

"Oh. Well... Will is handling things with the fire department. Get down here as soon as you can, okay? Wait, don't hang up." She seems to have covered the mouthpiece of her phone with her hand, because her next words are muffled. "Oh... fuck. Tris, you need to look outside."

"I'm fucking topless, Chris! What's happening?"

"Just look, dammit!"

She takes her shirt and covers her front with it, approaching the entrance cautiously to make sure no one is outside. She pushes open the door and leans out.

Smoke. It smells like smoke.

_Oh no..._

She looks around frantically.

_Please don't let it be..._

Black, billowing smoke. From the top apartment on the corner overlooking the river.

_Her studio is on fire._

George pulls her inside, taking in her expression. "Hey, listen. If you need to make an appointment to finish the tattoo, we can do that. Okay?"

"M-my... art studio is... b-burning."

She thinks of her pastel drawings in the closet, and that's when her tears start to fall.

"Alright, girl. Come on. Let me put you in for the same time in two days. Is that okay?"

She nods, and he carefully bandages her back, warning her to keep it clean until he can finish it. Then he helps her into her shirt from behind. "Where am I taking you, sweetheart?"

"What?" she mumbles.

"You clearly can't walk or drive anywhere on your own right now. I'm going to lock up for a couple of hours here, to make sure that you get where you need to be."

She points out the door to the studio, her face blank and her mind strangely silent.

"Okay. I'll take you there."

She walks beside him, her eyes unseeing. Her vision blurs and clears in a mind-numbing cycle as tears gather only to drip down or fall away. Her studio is burning.

Her _life _is burning.

All of her art, the art for her children's hospital contract, the drawing...

The drawing...

_The drawing..._

"Hey, it's going to be okay."

"Do you really think so?" she asks, her voice as hollow as the rest of her.

Wu nods. "My last shop burnt to the ground too, about twelve years ago. I had my portfolios and most of my art in there—the art that isn't on _me,_ anyway—and it was... fucking difficult. But you'll get back to where you were. I promise."

She thinks about that until they arrive on the block, which has been sectioned off by police officers and firemen.

She walks up to the police officer that's pushing people back, wild desperation dispelling reason from her mind. Her studio is burning. _Her studio is burning. Her pictures of him are burning._

"I need to get them out," she pleads with the man, his blue shirt and shiny decorations making her eyes hurt with their brightness. "I need to go in there... they're burning and I need to get them out."

"Nobody's going in there," he says harshly. "If there's someone inside there, the firefighters will find them. Okay? You need to step back."

Wu grabs her arm. "Come on, girl. He's right, you're not gonna get yourself killed going in there. I'll stay with you until you can reach someone."

She pulls away from him and turns to run, but she slams into someone else that grips her arms automatically. "Tris! Holy shit... Chris said—aww man. I'm so sorry, Short Stuff." Arms wrap tightly around her and she cries hard into his chest. "Who are you?" he asks.

"Uh... I'm Wu. She was with me when she found out about all of this. I... run a tattoo shop down the street."

"Oh... alright. Thanks for stayin' with her, man." He unwraps one arm from her to shake the older man's hand.

"I hope things work out," he answers sincerely before heading down the sidewalk.

Uriah looks down at her and raises an eyebrow, his eyes sparkling mischief. "Hey, what do you say you finish that tatt? There's nothing to do here except stand around and watch it burn, and that's depressing as fuck. Let's go get us some badass tattoos."

She sniffs. "Why not?" she mumbles.

Uriah turns toward the street. "Hey, wait up!"

* * *

Given the situation, she's handling everything remarkably well. She's staying with Uriah now, since her apartment has been reduced to ashes and rubble and she can't sleep in her studio. Christina offered to her the couch, but she and Will recently moved in together, and she just does not want to be around for their _after-dark activities_. They deserve to have this part of their lives be happy and relatively stress-less. So when Uriah offered her his guest room, she accepted.

She showers numbly and then Uriah gently rubs in some of the ridiculously expensive tattoo ointment that he bought her after she finished the tattoo. He smiles. "It looks great. What does it mean?"

"I just... I liked the phrase so much, that..."

"Which is why there's an invisible number 4 in the middle of your color burst," he interrupts as he bandages her back.

"It was just... It's what I want with him, you know? I want not to rush anymore, not to get carried away. I want to love him the way he deserves, and I think that right now that means we need to take our time."

"Sounds... sounds bout right," he says gently.

"It's the only piece of art that survived the fire," she whispers, tears forming a knot in her throat.

"How's that?" Uriah asks curiously.

"I folded it and put it in my pocket to take to the tattoo artist. He asked me if he could keep it to make new stencils with it. He also offered me a job."

Uriah laughs. "You should take it so I can get free tattoos from you."

"He was only kidding."

"Somehow I don't think that's wholly true. Hey... you're going to be alright." He squeezes her shoulder and leaves so that she can dress for bed. She studies the piece in the mirror. There's a burst of color on her back, randomly drawn into a remarkable blur of iridescent chaos. There's the four in the middle, of course... she had wondered if she should fill it in with color, but in the end she decided that it looked really good in just her skin tone. Over the colors and the 'invisible' four are the words that stuck in her mind from the song, "_I will love with urgency, but not with haste," _the cursive letters flowing but bold at the same time. They are written in dark blue with a vague black shadow under the letters, not visible enough to interrupt the burst of color, but still there enough to give the words the appearance that they are standing on a flat surface.

As she moves into the living room to help Uriah with his own tattoo, she thinks, _ four is getting to be my favorite number._

* * *

Four sits in blank numbness. Grief isn't new to him, its crushing weight no longer noticeable. But Cruz was his friend, someone he cared about. Someone that made this life slightly less unbearable.

And Cruz is gone. When he stood up and moved to his cell door this morning, he saw his friend lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood. He was sleeping when his friend was dying.

This is one time he doesn't feel useless. He is one of the most feared people in this prison... mostly because he bears the Dauntless mark, and mostly because he does not speak to prisoners other than his friends. He is mysterious to the rest of them, mysterious and dangerous. The one or two times they cornered him in the beginning, they saw exactly how dangerous he is. He will use that now, and he makes sure that everyone in that cell knows with one look that he is coming for them.

They take his body away and he stays in his cell. Caleb stirs—the lazy fucker, he's just now waking up. "Are you cool?"

He nods.

"What crawled up your ass?"

"Cruz is dead."

Caleb jumps down from his bunk and moves to the cell door. "What the fuck...?"

"I don't know, but Rock and I are going hunting today."

Caleb wisely keeps his mouth shut.

Four looks at him sideways. "You're pretty smart. Which one of them do you think did it?"

"You're asking me?"

"Nope. I'm asking the guy behind you that's doing the fucking chicken dance."

Caleb rolls his eyes. "My money's on the guy that sleeps in the other bunk on the bottom."

"Why?"

"Because he's been watching _you._"

"What do I have to do with it?"

"I also know that he's friends with the guy that almost brained you to death on the cafeteria floor."

Four turns to him, studying him curiously. "What else do you know?"

Caleb smirks. "Whatever you want me to know."

* * *

It's been two days since Cruz died. Christina is coming today. She's been really busy. Something's been happening with the case. They caught a big lead that they're trying to track down, which coincides with something that's been going on with Tris that she won't talk about. But he's getting answers today, dammit. If she's in danger, he will fucking know about it.

Caleb looks disturbed when he sits down next to him, his green eyes dark and his posture tense. His mouth is a tight line, curved slightly down at the edges, and his eyebrows have a deep wrinkle between them.

"What's going on? First Christina, and now you?"

"Yeah well, let me tell you while Chris gets her shit together for your case and calls you out. Someone burned down Tris's apartment and art studio."

"Holy shit! Is she okay?"

"She's devastated, really. She's completely fucked up."

"Is she coming this week?"

"I don't know. She has to deal with her insurance and canceling that contract—"

"The thing with the children's hospital..."

"Yeah. She lost it all."

He wants to punch the wall. "Fuck!" he yells. "I _told _her... dammit, I told her to stay the fuck out of this."

"You know she wasn't going to do that. She'll handle it."

"What happened to you being the overprotective 'I'll fuck anybody up that messes with my sister' type? These people aren't going to _mess with _her. They're going to systematically destroy her before ending her _life! _Do you not see that?!"

"They haven't killed _you _yet."

"They know better than to try," he growls. "But they know that she..." he puts his head in his hands.

"This isn't your fault," Caleb says.

"Like fuck it isn't! How involved is she in this?"

"She's not, actually. She... has been mostly minding her art, answering any questions that she can. She _did _ask me to help with the Janine Matthews thing—"

"She did what?" Four asks flatly.

"The cops have a lead on some blonde, uppity, bitchy-looking rich lady named Janine Matthews. Head scientist in some pharmaceutical corporation. But they didn't know what the deal was with her, so Tris asked me if I'd help the cops hack her phones and that type of shit. I think I went a little overboard," he says sheepishly. "I gave 'em everything from her financials to her damn medical records, to the time she does her daily work out and what gym she does it at, to what kind of toilet paper she buys." He sighs. "I love technology. America doesn't know what fuckers like me can do with a little brain power and _way _too much time on our hands. I have her complete iTunes library, every computer file on her laptop and her office and her home devices, I found out where her ex-husband lives and sent him a little e-gift, too."

"Jesus," he mutters.

"It was entirely well-intentioned. His little e-gift is a virus that enables the police to see everything he does on his computer. If he is involved, they will know about it. Anyway, I also hacked every traffic camera and security camera I could get into without being detected, and sorted all of her common routes and stuff for them. I spent the whole fucking day there. And I didn't even get in trouble for hacking her bank." He grins. "I'd forgotten how much I like hacking." Caleb looks at him sideways. "You know, if you know anything about her, it could help them figure out which files they need to go through."

He shakes his head immediately.

"Don't be stubborn. If you tell them what to search for, they will be able to get this over with faster, you know. The faster you get this over with, the better they can protect Tris. You aren't protecting her by keeping your mouth shut."

Four glares at him but sighs. "A son. She has a son. I don't know... who or where. But I know that Eric knows who that is."

"That is an interesting development," he says, perking up a little. "I saw in her medical records that she'd given birth, but she signed out of the hospital AMA and never so much as gave the kid a name. I tried to track down any adoption records or foster care records, but nothing turned up. I tried medical files for the kid, but the kid was gone from the hospital not even a day later, and hasn't been in any hospitals in the state after that." He looks pained. "Holy shit... do you think she killed her kid?"

"No." Four shakes his head. "I know for a fact that her kid is alive and well, because Eric worked with him all the time. He never let anyone meet him though. He is one of the major leaders of Dauntless—nobody's ever seen any of their faces and only a few people have had direct contact with them—the Dauntless leaders' anonymity has kept them out of jail and alive for a very long time."

"So her random ghost baby is her connection to Dauntless?"

He sighs, swallowing hard before nodding. "You know that the second we tell Christina this, we're signing Tris's death warrant."

Caleb gulps too. "I love my sister," he whispers. "I spent my whole life thinking that what I was doing would be good for her, that I was giving her everything she wanted and that that was good. But she didn't want this... she never wanted me to steal, she never wanted me to turn into _this._" He draws a shuddering breath. "I did all the wrong things to give her what she wants. This time, I _will _give her what she wants, what she _really _wants, and I will be doing the right thing, too. I have to do this for her, even if it means I... even if..." he swallows again. "Even if it means I have to lose her," he ends in a whisper. He grips the bars at the gate of their cell with a white knuckled grip. "I don't deserve her anyway, and neither do you."

"Well call me selfish if you want, but I don't want her to get herself killed by those people of all people!"

"Why not? I mean, why do you say you don't want her to get killed by _those people? _What's the difference? Why not them?"

"Because it's awful," he mumbles. "She doesn't deserve to die like that."

"Like how?"

"Like Lynn died." The words slip out of his mouth before he can stop them, and then he grits his teeth. "This discussion is over," he says tightly, and Caleb nods, his hands tensing around the bars again.

* * *

The fire left very little for her to recover. All of the art in the main room of her studio is completely destroyed, all of her supplies turned into lumps of soggy soot or charcoal. There is shattered glass everywhere, and the open, uncovered windows let in the breeze that reminds them that it is clearly not summer anymore. The floor is blackened and dusty, and the walls are ruined, even missing in some places. Her office is nothing but a mess of burnt records and black, holey walls and water damage.

Uriah looks around at the disaster, completely overwhelmed. "Holy fuck," he mutters, wrapping his arms around Tris. "Don't cry, Short Stuff. Come on, let's clean up here, see if there's anything we can save. The insurance inspector will be here soon."

She sniffs and nods. She goes to the closet first. The door is blackened and clearly burned, and she trembles as she reaches out to open it. The inside of the closet is water damaged, but not burnt. She pulls out each piece, one by one, unwrapping it carefully from its covering.

"Whatcha got there?"

"They... they're okay," she whispers, tears dripping from her chin. The last larger drawings on the bottom are the last ones she stored—the pastel drawings of Four. Uriah stares at them, his eyebrows climbing.

"I think I know what had you so upset," he says, trying and failing to suppress his amusement.

"Fuck you, Uri," she tells him testily.

"You know I would if you were drawing pictures of me instead of that guy."

"I got your picture..."

"Okay, okay," he says in surrender. "No need for violence. Look, this is a start, right? Let's get these out of here before they get all dirty and gross."

"Fine," she huffs.

"Don't be mad," he says.

She doesn't acknowledge the semi-apology. "Hurry up, I want to visit Four," she says instead.

"Okay, okay." He grins, and his eyes glint with mischief. "I bet you do," he adds under his breath, turning away before she can smack him.

"Uriah Pedrad, I will kill you. I love you. But I will kill you."

"It would be an honor to die by your hand, Short Stuff."

She glowers at him and he shrugs, continuing his cleaning with a chuckle.

She heaves a sigh, the kind of sigh someone gives when a small child is severely testing their patience. As annoying as he is, he lifting her spirits in a way she will always be grateful for.

He smiles at her when he sees he's forgiven for getting all over her last nerve. He hugs her gently, careful not to get her dirty. "You're my best friend, Tris," he says sincerely. "I'd rather have you threatening me and hitting me all day than moping around. This sucks, and I'm sorry it happened to you, and I don't want you to be sad."

She grins at him. "You have the strangest ways of cheering people up," she says with false irritation.

He smirks back. "I do what I can."

"Clearly," she snorts. "Now let's finish this."

* * *

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"Are you?" He's on his feet and in front of her before she can even blink. His hands are everywhere, touching her cheeks and tangling in her hair, and then on her neck and chest, her sides, her stomach, her back. But his eyes are not lustful, they're worried, their dark blue shadows carefully gauging her reactions.

She grabs his hands before they continue their frantic assessment. "I wasn't there," she says quietly. "I'm not hurt. I wasn't home."

He sighs in relief, the storm clouds in his eyes dissipating. "You're okay?"

"I'm okay. Are you?"

He shrugs. "I don't know." He sits down in his chair. "I... my friend, Cruz... he woke up dead a few days back, and I just... that feels really shitty. I liked that guy."

She pulls him to his feet and embraces him. "I'm sorry for your loss," she whispers.

"Yeah, me too," he mutters. "The guy that killed him had an unfortunate accident," he says smugly, "but I won't tell you about that."

"Oh geez," she mutters. "Did it make you feel better?"

He frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, the 'unfortunate accident'... did it make you feel any better about your friend?"

"Not really," he says thoughtfully. Then he looks down at her. "How are you really?"

"Really really?" She looks down. "All I want to do is cry. But I'm keeping myself distracted with my other job so... I don't know. Depressed, or numb, or somewhere between."

"I'm sorry," he says into her hair. "For what it's worth, I feel better now that you're here."

She smiles at him, her arms tightening around him. "Me too," she whispers.

He kisses the top of her head and sits down, hanging his head. "Tris... I have some..." he grits his teeth. "I don't want to do this," he whispers.

She sits across from him, taking his hand. "You have information."

"I can give Will one of the Dauntless leaders. But..."

"But?"

"They're going to come after us, you know. Will and his partner, and Christina, and me, and Caleb... and _you._"

"We won't let it get that far," she promises, her voice tight.

"Right, that's why they burned down your entire existence," he snaps.

"Look... they don't have to know that you told us yet. If we play it right nobody will know until Will's on top of them."

"You're wrong, but I... I want you to leave, okay? Just leave, get out of the city... get out of the damn state... just go. Okay? You're going to tell Will, and then you're going to get the fuck out of dodge. Okay?"

She shakes her head. "I'm not leaving you."

"Dammit, Tris," he hisses. "Don't be stubborn."

"I'm not letting them chase me away from you! I'm not going to let them think that they can scare me out of helping you. _You _are _not _staying here! Do you hear me? I'm going to stay here until this is over, I don't care if they burn down the whole city."

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not asking you to do that," he says tersely. "I'm asking you to have at least a small amount of regard for your own life, okay? Grow at least an ounce of self-preservation."

"_Self-preservation_ is an excuse that people use to not do the right thing. _Self-preservation _is for people that sit idly by. I don't need _self-preservation_. I need a clear conscience."

He laces his fingers with hers. "You brave, _stupid _girl," he says, his voice somewhere between exasperated and enamored, harsh and gentle. "Someday I want to be like you."

She raises an eyebrow. "Start today," she says. "Tell me what you know."

He sighs. "Okay," he says. "Okay."


	10. Chapter 9

_He laces his fingers with hers. "You brave, _stupid_ girl," he says, his voice somewhere between exasperated and enamored, harsh and gentle. "Someday, I want to be like you."_

* * *

"Hey Uri, can I ask you something?"

He smiles at her as she finishes wrapping up the tattoo on his arm that she just cleaned.

"Who is Zeke?" She points to his tattoo, and the smile falls from his face.

"Zeke is my brother."

"I didn't know you had a brother."

"Yeah well... he ran away from home a long time ago, when he was sixteen and I was fourteen."

"Why?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. I mean... we weren't exactly well off, but mom and Zeke and me, we had everything we needed, you know? After dad... _died_... he and I got really close. He used to tell me everything, you know? But then, one day he was just gone. I didn't see him again for a year, and when I did, he smiled at me like he didn't leave us wondering whether he was even alive. I was so mad... but I love my brother more than anybody."

"I know the feeling," Tris tells him with a small smile.

"So you do," he says thoughtfully. "Then you know how I felt when I found out he was running with Dauntless."

"You asked him to quit."

"He grinned at me," Uriah responds, rubbing the bandage after Tris finishes with it. "He said 'just you wait, baby bro' you know... like I hadn't been _waiting..._ he said that he was coming into some big money soon, and that he would pay to get out of Dauntless and that then he would buy mom and me a house anywhere we wanted.

"I saw the news three days later. My brother, busted in a robbery gone bad. Ezekiel—Zeke 'Rock' Pedrad, Dauntless gangbanger, and one of only about five people from Dauntless that has ever been convicted of a crime—including Four, naturally."

She raises an eyebrow. "You brother went to prison?!"

"Where do you think I go every Wednesday that makes me close up shop?"

"But visiting is..."

"Yeah. Well. Visiting is whenever you want if you make the right arrangements, as well you know." She flushes bright red, and he laughs. "Don't get all shy, Short Stuff."

"Is that why you didn't want me to be with Four?"

He nods, frowning. "I... I know I was sort of a jerk about it when you told me, but I really... I mean, it ruined my family. He _left _us to join them, and it was just... I didn't want them to ruin you, too. I didn't mean to be an ass, I swear. I just don't want you to end up as fucked up as my family is now. I don't want you to be worse off than you were before."

Tris smiles. "I'm going to be even better than I was before. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that, Short Stuff."

* * *

"So he says what exactly?" Will asks.

"He told me the whole story. You might have to clarify stuff with him but he told me everything, from the very beginning."

"Talk," Will says with a smirk.

Tris draws a breath and begins to speak.

* * *

"_I met Lynn at a party I crashed because I needed the food. She was, uh, _working,_ though, so we didn't really talk much. But she introduced me to Eric and Rock and all of them, and they all welcomed me like they'd known me all my life. We talked and laughed and I ate well that day, and I even got my first taste of beer and stuff. I didn't see it back then, but I know it now. Eric was testing me, watching me like a piece of meat, to see how I would fit in, to see how I would respond to their dares, to their jokes, to their _drugs_... their drugs never appealed to me. But their friends did. I went with them everywhere, because they had freedom and joy I had never experienced before in my life._

"_Lynn came around almost every day to see me. I really liked her. She took me around the city, showed me her favorite places. We clicked. Except when she was working. Except when she was high. I hated watching her go with other men, I hated watching her dance with them, I hated watching them touch her. But I didn't want to offend my friends. So I just drank and kept my mouth shut._

"_One day she came in and she was bruised and fucked up, and her nose was bleeding, and her clothes were torn and dirty. I flipped out, asked her what the hell happened. She cried in my arms for more than an hour before we got the story straight. One of her johns... _forced_ her... and took her money. She stole his ID when she ran away from him. She gave it to me, and I saw his name and his address, and I handed it to Rock and Eric and Max, and I knew what we had to do. We went to his home and waited for him to come out. We took him for a ride, and we beat the shit out of him and left him in an alley. He was pretty fucked up when we left. The idea wasn't to kill him, it was just to warn him not to try that shit again. I found out he was in intensive care for four days before he stabilized. Apparently he had to have surgery for internal bleeding._

"_I climbed the ranks fast enough after that. I had to get 'jumped in' to Dauntless—although, their initiation's version of 'jumping in' is a little bit different. I literally had to _jump_... as in, off the roof of an abandoned building. It was an old, condemned apartment building, with seven or eight stories. At the bottom there was this hole... a huge hole... and I couldn't see anything in it but blackness. But I did it, I jumped. There was a net at the bottom, of course, and underneath there there was a whole series of tunnels—my guess is that they're old excavations for constructions of subways or sewers or something like that. And they each lead to different areas of abandoned buildings, and an underground part of the river. They have everything in there from places to buy drugs to clubs to tattoo shops... this is their headquarters, I guess. In a way. This is where they party, where they socialize, where they meet. I practically lived there for a while, learning how Dauntless works, meeting the other members. I _wanted _so bad to be part of their family... I just jumped all in, you know? They taught me how to fight and how to shoot. They taught me, in a weird way, discipline. And I loved them. I did. I _loved _Dauntless and gave it all I had to offer._

"_But Eric... Eric was jealous. I didn't know that then, but I know that now. All of our friends... even Max, which is much older than us and one of the bosses—not a leader, but someone who definitely gives orders—hung out with me and respected me and my ideas. He always was along for the ride, but I had to keep telling him to come out with us, that I wanted him to be there, that we should hang out... he was a brother I didn't have before, and I didn't understand why he was so withdrawn with me all of a sudden. I asked him one night if he was okay, if there was anything I could do for him. He just clapped me on the shoulder and said, 'I'm cool, I've got it covered.' And I took his word for it. He was still quiet, not as sociable, but he followed me everywhere._

"_Everyone _followed_ me. I understand that now, but I didn't back then. I was just happy they wanted me. Max noted the shift, started giving me bigger jobs, introducing me to other people. I was making a lot of money, and I spent a lot of it on Lynn's... _habit._ She started using so heavily after that asshole did that to her... I was with her every chance I got, you know? And we talked and we got to know each other, and eventually, sleeping together, and eventually after that, going on dates and stuff, when she wasn't high anyway. _

"_So, when Eric asked her out, I was furious. She said no, of course, and then _he _was furious. She came to me and asked me to do something about him. I didn't... not really. I just figured that he should have known that we were dating and that he'd get over it. He apologized to me, a few weeks later, and he introduced me to someone, someone that freaked me out the moment I met her. But naturally, Max wanted Eric and me to work with her, so I just sucked it up and met with her when she asked, delivered the packages she asked me to, and that was that. Her name is Janine Matthews._

"_I never knew what was in the packages, until Max opened one once. He pulled out this... vial full of clear blue fluid. Then he gave me my money and told me where to take hers, and I left. Two days later, somebody was dead, killed in a car accident..._

"_I took my money and went home. When I got there, Lynn was on the floor, out cold. She'd overdosed. I rushed her to the hospital, and that was when she told me she wanted to quit. They had her in a month for her detox, and then I spent everything I got for that blue vial on a rehab place out of town. I'd go visit her whenever I wasn't working and I just... at first, you know, it was just about the partying, but toward the end, I really... I really loved her, I think. I asked her to move in with me, she said yes. She told me she didn't want to be one of their girls anymore, and I immediately went to Eric to find out what we had to do to get her out. I saved every penny I could. The buy-out was way out of my budget, though, so it wasn't for a couple of months of delivering Janine's packages, saving every penny and praying that Lynn wouldn't relapse now that Max was making her work more... I started to really hate that life, but it was all I had, all _we _had. Eric questioned my loyalty. Said that I was living with a coward, and that she was going to drag me down with her, and that I should cut that bitch loose._

"_I decked him before I even knew what I was doing. Max raised his eyebrows, you know, but didn't say anything. In fact, nobody said anything. And Eric got up and cleaned the blood off his face and he was waiting for them to... I don't know... defend him or something. But they didn't, nobody did. It was then that I realized that Lynn's decision to leave Dauntless hadn't at all tainted my reputation, it made it stronger. Stronger, even, than Eric's and Max's. Apparently there were a lot of people that were starting to get tired, and they saw in me someone that was reasonable and solid enough to lead them... and refresh their enthusiasm, I guess."_

"_You were a Dauntless leader?"_

"_Almost. Max told me a leader had asked to meet me, but I kept turning him down. I didn't want to lead them, I was this close to trying to get out myself. Max kept saying I was crazy not to take the opportunity. He said nobody would ever even know I was a leader, that that was how Janine's son rose through the ranks at his age and nobody even noticed._

"_I don't know when Eric found out that the other Dauntless leaders wanted to reveal themselves to me, to get to know me, to have my leadership. But he was so cold to me that I started to worry. So I asked him to meet me somewhere, alone. He said to meet him in the warehouse two blocks down to where I jumped in... and I did. When I got there, he had Lynn by the arm, a gun to her head. He said that if I tried anything stupid he would shoot her. I sat down in the chair that someone provided... that someone was Janine. She explained that Lynn was being executed for being an informant, and that she was there to do the execution. She also said something I didn't understand, she said that she wasn't going to let me dethrone her son. Eric looked at her when she said that, like he wasn't expecting that._

"_I didn't even know what to say. Eric disarmed me and tied me down in the chair. He said that he was going to get rid of me too, because I 'usurped' him. I was like... what? He said that Dauntless was his first, and that I had no right to steal his friends and his position, and that I had no right to turn the girl he loved against him, and that he would get his revenge on me because it was my fault she turned into a coward traitor, and it was my fault that he would have to watch her die. I didn't know what that meant, but then Janine came in with a syringe full of that same blue stuff I'd been delivering. She made Lynn take drugs... the stuff she'd worked so damn hard to stop using. She cried when she injected herself, and I think I did too. And then Janine... put the needle in her neck and I couldn't stop it," he whispered, his voice strangled._

"_Nothing happened at first. But then her eyes unfocused... not precisely like they did when she was high, but anyone who didn't know her would think that that was her being high. And then in the next second, she screamed at the top of her lungs. She just kept screaming and screaming. I struggled, you know, but I couldn't... Janine said that it was called Fear Serum, and that it was a toxin that produced horrifying hallucinations and extreme pain. She untied me and let me off the chair, and I went to Lynn. She screamed in cried for so long... I didn't know how to help her, how to ease the pain, how to make whatever she was seeing in her mind go away, to make whatever she was fighting stop terrorizing her. She'd claw at my arms with her nails while she fought, and she kicked and screamed and I think she even bit me once. All I could do was just hold her and try and fail to soothe her. Eventually her screaming died down to whimpering, and I knew she was dying. I begged her to stay with me... I did everything I could, but it was useless." He swallowed hard, wiping his face with his sleeve. _

_He took a deep breath, and when he continued to speak, his voice was steady once more. "And then, I was out cold. I don't know what they did to me to knock me out, but one minute I was holding her and the next I was laying next to her with cops pointing guns at my head and a bloody knife in my hand. They arrested me and said that I stabbed her because she'd gone and gotten high after I wasted all my money on her rehab. They said that I was angry and that when she met me all fucked up like that, I beat her up and stabbed her, and that that's why there were scratches on my arms and face. None of that was true, but nobody listened to me. The judge sentenced me to be in jail forever, and I just... I gave up. It was my fault that she died, after all. The stupid lawyer they gave me did nothing, and I didn't bother to ask for a new one. I watched her die because I didn't save her. Just like my mother. I was useless to her like I was useless to Lynn, and so when they sent me to jail, I didn't bother. I've always thought that I deserve to be here."_

* * *

"Jesus," Will mutters. "So that's what it's called, is it? _Fear Serum. _We've found in her work records a serial number to a chemical that the company didn't know existed. It is specifically designed to disappear in your system... like a virus that gets past a firewall. It is an amazing feat of science, actually. Caleb's file transfer contained the formula for it and the program she used to activate it. The serum itself is a transmitter that connects to a computer program, which tells it what to do. It targets various specific cells, takes over them, and destroys them. Once it destroys those cells it is gone. So, for example, you could literally program it to find things such as cancer cells or certain bacteria or viruses and it will simply eliminate those without destroying any surrounding cells at all, because its target is so specific. But that's not why Janine developed it. She developed it specifically to target certain cells in your nervous system, causing an overload of brain function... like an overheated computer eventually just shutting down. She designed the programming so that the person would die a painful and terrifying death. My guess is that someone in Dauntless has hired her to make that formula. Does Four remember where he was supposed to take the money?"

Tris frowns as she sorts through her memory of his story, tapping her chin. "He said he always dropped it off at an apartment in a really seedy part of town. There was nobody in it, but there was a spare key always. He'd take the key and use it to get in. he'd leave the money in the living room and lock the door, and then he'd leave."

"Seedy like... that seedy bar that Janine hangs out at?" Fernando asks, smirking to himself as he reviews some file or another. "You know what I'm interested in? You said Four thinks that her connection to the Dauntless is her kid."

"Yeah."

"He said that Eric knows who the kid is, because the kid is a Dauntless leader that he's had contact with."

"Right."

"There is no _Eric _in any of her contacts, her phone calls, or anything of that nature. What I want to know is who that guy is so that we can pick him up and squeeze him for information."

"And when I sent my UCs to that bar they said nothing had come up about Janine that was suspicious, and they sure as hell never mentioned that she could have a kid." Will shakes his head. "No. If we search for Eric, they'll know we're after their leadership and everyone in this room will be on their wanted list. What do we do?"

Tris taps her chin then smiles. "I'm an artist."

"Duh," Will says testily. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I can get him to describe Eric for me, and I can draw you a picture. Depending on how much he can describe, maybe you guys can find a match in your files. That way you guys can arrest him quickly without people finding out."

Fernando grins at her. "Tomorrow. Bring your sketchbook tomorrow. We will clear everything through the proper people."

* * *

The insurance company was trying to rip her off as expected, but naturally, Caleb told her just what to do, and they begrudgingly repaid or replaced her losses... all of them. She will be using some of that to buy a new place to set up her art studio, but she still isn't thinking about a place to live. Other things are more important, like clothing and basic hygiene, and Uriah's groceries because he can't cook worth a damn, and paying her other bills.

Today she is devastated for a different reason, though. At some ungodly hour of the morning, she noted that the light in her window was strange-looking. When she looked out the window, her car was on fire.

Uriah is now staring at its charred remains, mouth gaping. The firefighters have cleaned up and left, and she is standing in front of it in complete numbness.

"I'm... I'm gonna call it, Short Stuff. She's totaled. I can't fix 'er."

She shakes her head. "But... my brother gave it to me. I... you have to fix it!"

"I'm sorry, Tris," he says.

"But... Caleb..."

"He'll understand."

"But... it's all I have left... I had to give back everything else and..."

"You still have him, you know."

She stares at him blankly. "He's in jail," she mumbles.

"He's still alive and with you. He still loves you and cares about you. And you can buy another car. He can buy you another car when he gets out."

"But..."

"Tris, the reason why she matters to you so much is because she came from _him._ He's still here and he loves you, and he will get you another gift as soon as he's able. I know he will."

He guides her inside as the tow truck takes the charred black vehicle away. She sits numbly on the couch, not crying even though tears fall from her eyes in a constant stream. "They took my art away, and my car... I have nothing," she mumbles, "I have nothing."

"You have me, and you have Chris, and you have Four and Caleb. You're going to be alright, we're going to help you."

"But I have nothing," she mumbles, staring at the wall in front of her blankly. "It's all gone. All of it is gone."

"Aww Tris... I'm so sorry, Short Stuff. I'm so sorry." He holds her while she cries, and when she finally exhausts herself into sleep, he picks up the phone. "Chris... we need to talk. Bring Will, okay?"

"What's wrong?"

"Tris's car... they burned it too."

"Are you for real? But that thing was like her baby!"

"Yeah, I know. I'm her car doctor, remember?"

She snorts in laughter. "Yeah. I'm texting Will and Fer. They'll be there in twenty. Are there police with you?"

"There were earlier. We answered all their questions as best we could, and they questioned people in the neighborhood, but nobody knows anything. I have the feeling that they wouldn't say anything even if they did. I'm going to have to drive her to see her brother today... I have the feeling she'll want to visit with him... and Four too, probably."

"I will take her. I have to meet with Four anyway."

"Okay. See ya around, cuz."

"Later."

* * *

"I'm sorry, Sis," Caleb says. He's rubbing her hand with his thumb, and he doesn't give a fuck how many times the guard yells at him. Besides, the guard stopped even looking in their direction after Four glared from his place by the door, just outside the visiting room—he now stands there every time she comes to visit, just to see her.

Yeah, even the guards are scared of that guy. But then, being on the receiving end of one of his angry looks seems to cause bed-wetting nightmares for everyone ever—except for his sister, anyway. Yeah, she gives as good as she gets most days. Today, though, she's in tears because someone destroyed her car, his gift for her graduation.

Logically, he wants to scoff at her for being so attached to the damn thing. It was just a car, she can get another one. In fact, she should get another one, a much newer model of the same one, if she wants. That car was going on seven years old, anyway. But he knows those things are inappropriate right now. She's not upset because of just the car. She's upset because the Dauntless have destroyed everything she cared about in less than a week, leaving her homeless and without her second income, and leaving her even without the means to transport herself.

In other words, she's a sitting duck when they come for her.

He's terrified of losing his sister, but he knows she won't budge, not even after this. Still, he can't resist asking, "Why don't you just go away for a while? Let the rest of us sort this stuff out?" as gently as he can, as not to piss her off.

She glares at him. "No. Do you hear me? Fucking no! They don't get to destroy everything _and _chase me out of town! They don't get to make me leave _him._ He deserves for me to stay."

"He deserves for you to _live," _Caleb says gently.

Her jaw sets stubbornly. "He deserves for someone to stick with him until the end. I'm not going anywhere."

He sighs. "Sis... Bee... I love you with all my heart. I don't know why you think you'd be abandoning him by protecting yourself and staying out of the city for a while. You know he wants you to do that... why don't you?"

"It's Tris," she spits. "And he knows why. Besides, as long as I'm here, they will keep attacking. This is their chance to destroy a major gang, and I'm not going to just up and leave them to chase their tails. Right now they are focused on me and Four, and they won't be expecting Will to find out about their leaders. They are messing with me now to keep his mouth shut. As long as they think I'm here, they're going to keep thinking they can scare him, and the longer I'm alive. The second they have no use for me, I'm dead. If I leave town, I can't come back, because if I leave, Four will have nothing to lose. Their logic will be that now that I'm gone he's got nothing left to do but run his mouth, and they will kill him. I can't let that happen, and I can't just leave knowing that I'll never see you or him again. I have to stay and see this through."

* * *

Will is staring at the sketch, frowning.

"It isn't that bad," Tris mutters, her cheeks flushed.

"Actually it's pretty good—really good. It just... looks like someone I've seen before."

Tris shrugs. The sketch is of a man... well, he was still sort of a boy when Four knew him, so she went with what he looked like back then. He lad long, greasy black hair that was usually loose about his shoulders—except once when he got dreadlocks that went all the way down his back on a dare, according to Four. He had an industrial piercing that was usually red, unless it was black. He had a tattoo of something creepy on his throat. His Dauntless tattoo was on the back of his neck, exactly like Four's own. Something about him is eerily familiar though, even though she's sure she's never met him before.

"Thank you for doing this, Tris," Will is saying when she tears her eyes away from the sketch and tunes in the conversation.

She smiles. "Whatever it takes."

"I'm going to run the FRS and see if we get a match. Why don't you go on home." He grins. "Maybe get Uriah to get you out for drinks or something."

She smirks at how she imagines that conversation will go. He'll either be an excited manchild with ADHD and invite everyone, or he'll raise an eyebrow and plop on the couch without saying anything, purposefully turning on the TV. Either way, she won't need to say more than one sentence. She always liked that about him. She doesn't need to waste words telling Uriah things. He's always honest, straight to the point, easy to read. Blunt in the new extreme, but still kind with a huge heart. She wonders why she never attempted to date him or something like that.

She takes the bus home, making sure to stop at Starbucks for one of those pumpkin spice lattes. She's sipping it and waiting for the bus when Will's call breaks her out of her thoughtful reverie. "What is it?"

"I'm sending you a picture, okay? You need to tell me if you recognize him. This is important, Tris. This case just got cracked wide open, and it's worse than I thought. I can't reach Uriah but you both need to come straight here, okay? Pack your shit and get to the station."

"What's going on?" Her phone buzzes in her ear, startling her. She looks at it. It is a mugshot of... _she has seen that man before! _When Will approached her about Four's case the first time, right here at Starbucks, actually. He was crossing the street. He followed her and Uriah... he followed her home. _Oh fuck. _

The name on the mugshot reads _James Eric Matthews. _Eric _was _the leader that Janine gave birth to. Four never knew.

"You have to warn Four," she chokes out.

"We did, he's been put in protective custody. Christina is moving forward with her motion to throw out his conviction, we have enough evidence to charge him _and _Janine, but nobody has seen the guy in two days. The cameras that Caleb got us into haven't seen him, and as far as any informants know, he hasn't been in the place that Four described, their underground headquarters or whatever. Janine also didn't report to work today. You need to get with Uriah as soon as possible, okay?"

"Okay."

"Don't be afraid, okay?"

"I'm not." She hangs up and looks around, but doesn't see him. She takes a bus in the opposite direction of Uriah's house, deciding to get a transfer instead. The bus ride takes forty-five minutes longer than she planned, but she finally runs up the stairs to his apartment, shoving the key on the lock and bursting in. "Uriah!" She yells. "Uriah we have to—Uri?" She freezes.

He's on the ground, surrounded by a pool of blood. She kneels next to him, forcing her stomach not to revolt. His eyes are open, and his throat is bleeding. She presses her head to his chest, but hears no heartbeat.

_No._

Unable to control herself anymore, she heaves, her whole body rejecting the idea that one of her best friends has been murdered in his apartment. Tears are hot and bitter on her face, but she doesn't care. He's gone.

He's _gone_.

Uriah... her best friend, the one that cheered her up and laughed and joked with her while he fixed up her car, the one that always knew how plain she felt and made it his mission to flirt with her every chance he got just so that she would know she was beautiful, the one that gleefully gloated about his long-overdue win in paintball, the one that always brought her out to the Pier on her birthday...

A laugh sends chills through her spine, but before she has the chance to whirl around, a hand has her by the hair, and another hand has pressed a knife to her neck. The knife is still bloody, and the slickness of it makes her cringe.

She freezes, stiff with fear. She wipes her face and mouth with her sleeve and then raises her hands.

"You're going to get up and walk with me outside," a voice says in her ear. "If you scream, I will cut your throat out like I did with your friend. If you try to run, I will shoot you. I have a gun."

Tris swallows, nodding once, slowly.

"Get up, bitch."

She stands, turning to face him. His face is cold, his icy eyes glittering with evil.

_Eric. _

He motions her to the door, and a shudder rolls through her body.

"_Fucking move!"_ He bellows, and she jumps to obey. She looks back at Uriah, laying dead on the ground, and she bites her lip hard so as not to cry. He is following her down the stairs, the point of his bloody knife digging into her back just enough. He guides her to a car and she jerks back involuntarily when he unlocks it and the trunk pops open. "Get in the trunk." He glares at her when she refuses. "I said, get in the fucking trunk!" She moves slowly forward, squeezing her eyes against tears as she curls into a ball inside the trunk. As soon as it is closed and car is moving, she pulls out her cell phone.

"Will," she cries.

"Tris! Where are you?"

She lets out a shaking breath. "I don't know, I... he killed Uri," she whimpers. "He was waiting for me, and now Uri's dead and... I don't know where he's taking me. Look, my phone has that 'find my iPhone' thing, will you please come for me? I'll give you my password so you can find me."

"Absolutely, sweetheart." There are muffled sounds of chaos as he starts snapping orders, and then he comes back on the phone. "Listen to me, you hide that phone okay? We're coming for you. Stall him as long as you can when you get there. Do what he says, don't piss him off."

She agrees, but yelps when the car hits a pot hole, sending her flying and knocking her head on the ceiling. "Ow," she mumbles. "I'm scared," she whispers.

"Be brave," he tells her in response. "You can survive this. Be brave. Use your judgment, trust your instincts. Don't let him stick you with _anything,_ keep a clear mind. Don't panic, okay? I'm coming to get you. I'm tracing your call. Stay on the line until you come to a stop, and then turn all vibration and sound on your phone off."

"Okay."

Not sure how long she has left before he stops driving, she sniffs. "He killed... there was a lot of blood. I don't..." she squeezes her eyes shut. "He's going to kill me too," she whispers.

"I won't let him. Okay? I won't let him, just hang tight for me, we're moving out now."

"Please just... tell Tobias I loved him, okay? And that he's worth all of this. Make sure he knows that. Please."

"You're going to tell him yourself," Will snaps. "Quit that shit now. Get your head in the game. Your goal right now is to be calm and lucid until I get you, take in as many details as possible so that we have a solid case when we arrest him. You're stronger than most girls. You can do this. Okay? Focus."

"We're stopping... I have to go," she whispers in a panic as the car suddenly pulls to the side and then goes silent. She hangs up with a final whispered goodbye and shoves the phone in her bra as the trunk opens.


	11. Chapter 10

**hey guys. welcome back.**

**I'm going to put a trigger warning up here. This chapter contains graphic (but not explicit) details of kidnapping and sexual assault (NOT rape). like i said it's detailed, but there's no rape here or anything like that. that said, if you're someone who has been through something like this or is sensitive to it, please skip this chapter. if you think you can handle it, read on. if you need to stop, please tell me in a PM so that i can tell you what you've missed. THIS STORY AND THIS CHAPTER ARE NOT WRITTEN WITH THE PURPOSE OF CONDONING OR ENCOURAGING VIOLENCE. don't sue me. okay, that's all. continue, if you dare. ;)**

**~temporary insanity**

* * *

"_We're stopping... I have to go," she whispers in a panic as the car suddenly pulls to the side and then goes silent. She hangs up with a final whispered goodbye and shoves the phone in her bra as the trunk opens._

* * *

"We're in business," Christina says cheerfully. "I've got your court hearing scheduled for tomorrow."

Four's eyes widen. "W-what?"

"Your hearing to exponge your records and throw out your conviction. It's tomorrow. Let me just tell you that the judge I presented my motion to was _not _pleased to hear that you were in prison so long for something you didn't do. The DA is being cooperative. Congratulations. You're going to be a free man."

"Just like that, huh?" Four mumbles thoughtfully. "What do I have to do?"

"Just stand there when they say, and the judge will give you some useless apology, which you'll accept as graciously as possible, and then you'll be given the option for compensation—in other words, we'll be allowed to sue the shit out of the state, if that's what you want, and then we'll come back and get your things, and then you'll be free to leave jail for good."

"Alright, I guess."

"Sweet. so... you know, pack your shit. I'll have something for you to wear tomorrow. Will and Fer will be there, and Tris too."

"Will she really be there?"

"Of course. Just cause you two aren't together anymore doesn't mean she's not interested in your well being. It's all she talks about. She keeps saying this thing... she keeps saying 'he's _not _scum'... like some sort of mantra. Like we don't already know that you're the most important thing to her. Each time you come up in the investigation... each time you're mentioned in relationship to some Dauntless thing, she glares at everyone. I don't even think she realizes she does that, but she does. She's like... your own guard dog for your reputation, or something."

"She doesn't want to love me anymore," he mumbles, disbelieving.

"But that doesn't mean she doesn't. Give her some time. She's stubborn as fuck, but she knows what the right thing to do for herself is. She'll come around. Let's focus on getting you out of here for now, okay?"

* * *

Eric yanks her out of the car by her hair. She grits her teeth to keep from crying out, but she glares at him, purposefully stomping on his foot as she stumbles onto the curb. He retaliates with a resounding smack that sends her crashing to the ground, lights flashing in her vision. She climbs to her feet quickly, moving away from him so he doesn't pull her up by her hair again.

He wrenches her by the arm toward a door to what looks like an apartment building. The stairs are steep and narrow, and poorly lit. She stumbles twice on the way up the stairs, her ears still ringing and her vision still swimming. He guides her forcefully to the door directly in front of the stairs on the third floor, producing a key he didn't have in his hand before. It's not attached to keychains or other keys.

_A spare key._

He opens the door and pulls her past the dimly lit living room, with dingy couches that have holes in them, to a chair in what seems like a dining room. There are no other chairs, however. There is only a desk and a small laboratory set up. She sits on her hands on the chair, purposefully staring at her lap, and waits for him to speak. However, all she registers is the click of the door closing and a lock sliding home.

She looks up, curious. Eric didn't bother to tie her down or anything... why? She stands, moving toward the door they walked through. There is no door knob, only a lock. The key unlocks both the inside _and _the outside. She knows trying to open the door would be useless, so she moves back into the space she was put in and looks around. There should be a fire exit around here...

She pushes open the door to one room to find two beds with thin mattresses, a dresser, and a closet. The closet is filled with women's clothes—business suits and lab coats. At the bottom on a rack are various pairs of shoes.

She checks the windows but there are locked, and all there is between her and the ground is three stories of emptiness. On an impulse, she pulls her phone out and opens the voice memo application, recording her thoughts out loud. "I'm in one of the bedrooms... it looks like they've been staying here a while. There's clothes in the closet, her clothes. Suits and stuff, shoes and lab coats. His clothes are in the dresser between the two beds. I wanted to see if I could get out of here through the window, but I can't."

She moves out of the room and into the kitchen area. There is a stove and a refrigerator, but both are old and crusted with lack of use. "The refrigerator holds a case of beer and left over take out, and nothing else. The stove hasn't been used since like... nineteen sixty-three or something, and everything is crusty and gross. I think if they plan to torture me to death, they might make me eat their takeout." She shudders at the gastric distress that could be growing in there and moves on to the bathroom.

The bathroom is fairly clean, and she peruses it. "His razor, two toothbrushes. Yeah. They've clearly been holed up in this crappy apartment for some time. Their toothpaste is almost gone. There's no way to get out of here either, the window is boarded up. I guess that's where the fire escape is..." she lets out a frustrated growl. "There's no way out. _Fuck!_"

She shoves the phone in her pocket and walks out of the bathroom slamming headlong into a woman with chin length brown hair and watery blue-gray eyes. Her lips are painted red and there's a small mole right outside her upper lip.

Tris freezes with fear, but the woman simply scowls at her and points back into the area she was originally seated in. "Sit down," she says flatly.

Tris backs into the room and sits down, as far away from the woman as she can. "Who are you?" she asks.

"Like you don't know," the woman snorts. "Don't waste my time with stupid questions."

"I'm the one sitting here with no way out after your little lackey dragged me out of my apartment and into his _trunk!_ I have stuff to do too, you know. You're the one wasting _my _time." Tris crosses her arms, her fear momentarily forgotten. "_Your. Name."_

"You're a feisty little thing, aren't you?"

"You're a cold-hearted little bitch, aren't you?" Tris spits back, raising an eyebrow.

"Miss Prior... your insults are childish and unnecessary."

"Fuck you," she snaps.

"I don't know what that man sees in you other than someone to put in her place now and again," the blonde woman says tiredly.

"You're going to kill me anyway, what's it to you?"

The woman sighs, the kind of sigh that a parent heaves when their patience is being severely tested. "Fine. My name is Janine Matthews. You may call me Ms. Matthews."

"I'll call you whatever I want."

The woman finally jumps out of her chair, sending it back with a crash, and barrels around the desk. Her hands wrap around Tris's throat. "Listen, you stupid little _brat _and listen carefully," she hisses as the younger woman gasps for air. "You are, in fact, going to _die_ here today. But if you keep up your ludicrous behavior, all you will do is expedite the process, and it will be _more _painful, _more _terrifying, and _more _torturous the more you _RUN_ your _MOUTH_! Do I make myself clear?"

Tris nods and Janine releases her neck, leaving her to cough and gasp for breath as she storms out of the room.

She's barely recovered her breath when Eric stands in front of her, arms crossed, feet shoulder-width apart. Everything about him screams control and dominance, and she wants to take him down a peg. But she can't piss him off yet. She needs to get him to talk. So instead, she stares into his eyes, watery and lifeless like his mother's, and makes her face as cold and empty as his. "Well?" she asks flatly. "What are you waiting for?"

"You've got a smart mouth, do you know that?"

"Then I'm doing better than you," she says testily.

She doesn't register the sound, only the bright lights in her eyes and the world tilting as she tumbles off the chair. Her mouth tastes like rusted metal and salt, and when she coughs, blood drips from her lip. She slowly rights herself, pushing the hair that has managed to fall out of her ponytail out of her face. She wipes her face with her sleeve and pushes herself toward the wall for support. As she struggles to keep her head from spinning.

He smirks cruelly at her, watching her scramble dazedly away from him. She hears a metal clinking and realizes that he's biting his lip piercing as he considers his next move. He turns away for a moment, and she uses that moment to slip her phone out of her bra and hide it behind the blinds of the window she's next to.

She closes her eyes. She doesn't think she'll be able to manipulate him by making him just angry enough. She'll end up with more than just bruised cheeks that way. She has to stall until Will gets here with the police. He should be here soon.

Maybe there is a way. Maybe she should pretend that _he _is manipulating _her. _If there is anything she can see about him, it is that he likes being the smartest person in the room. He likes the control, he _feeds _on the fear. If she pretends to be afraid, maybe he will gloat. Her phone is still recording... if she can get him to gloat into a recorded confession, then Four can be free.

_Four._ She scoffs. It's a stupid name. Who calls himself by a number anyway? His name is _Tobias._ And she loves him. And she will make herself weak if it means that she can save him.

_Pretend some vulnerability, _she scolds herself. _Pretend to panic. Do it now._ She wipes her face again, and she doesn't have to fake the trembling in her hand. She stands and darts for the door, but he grabs her arm before she's halfway to the living room.

"Where are you going?" he asks snidely.

"Let go of me!" she screams, trying to make herself sound as desperate as she can. She kicks at him and drives at him with her open palm, knowing that her blows will be ineffective.

He yanks her into her seat, his grip painful. Her arm will bruise. His hand finds her throat and she knows that will bruise too, if he doesn't strangle her to death anyway. He stares at her, and she pinches herself hard so that her eyes will up with tears. She makes her cut off breaths louder, faster, shallower, watching him smirk with satisfaction as her vision starts to go black around the edges.

"You're pathetic," he says dismissively, letting her throat go.

She says nothing, focusing only on being able to breathe again.

"He's pathetic too, you know."

"Fuck you," she gasps. "He cared about you."

He snorts. "Bullshit. If he cared about me he wouldn't have tried to run me out of Dauntless."

"That's a lie," she whispers. "Is that what you tell yourself at night so you can sleep after putting your best friend in jail?"

"He's not my friend," Eric growls.

"He loved you like a brother. He never would have disrespected you or tried to get you out."

His hand snaps out, like lightning, grabbing her hair and pulling her head painfully back to look in her eyes. "Is that what he told you?" He asks quietly. "Did he tell you that the the other leaders were considering relegating _me _to _his _job? He was merely the gopher, the one that ran between my mother and Dauntless to get our supplies but they wanted _him _to outrank me. That filthy piece of street trash—because that's where we found him, on the damn street, wearing rags and eating shit out of dumpsters like a common drug addicted nobody."

"He wouldn't have accepted," she says. "He wouldn't have done that to you. He cared about you."

"Right, that's why he started hooking up with one of _our _bitches, right?"

"_Ours, _or _yours_?"

"Shut the _fuck _up. You know _nothing._"

"I know that you clearly didn't care as much about Lynn as you said you did, or else she wouldn't be dead."

"She was a traitor," he growls, his grip tightening on her hair. "I saw her talking to some undercover."

Tris reaches out, careful not to alert him or look away, and snatches the spare key from his pocket, slipping it in her own before he registers her movement. "You have no loyalty," she accuses in a pained whisper, never looking away from his face. He would be handsome if he weren't so cold, and she tells him so.

"Yeah?" he says, an evil smirk pulling at the holes in his lip. "Would you fuck a cold asshole like me? You've been doin' your boy toy in prison. Maybe it's time you moved up the chain a little." His other hand moves roughly up her side, past her waist, as his knee pushes its way between hers, forcing her legs apart.

She swallows, and the panic now is not forced. "Lynn wouldn't," she whispers. "You wanted her and she didn't want you back."

"She was a slut. She didn't have a say in who she fucked. Why'd she say no to me and not to that homeless piece of shit, hmm? Why'd she do that? Because _he _made her forget me. Just like he turned all of our friends against me. _I hate him. _And now I get to do to him what he did to me, and I'm going to have so much fun," he says, leaning closer to her face. "I'm going to fuck the shit out of you, like he did with _my _woman. And then I'm going to kill you, just like I killed her. I'm going to use my mother's serum to poison you. You're think you're scared now, little girl? Just you wait." His lips are at the corner of her mouth. When Four did that, his eyes were mischievous and lustful, and his arms were warm and strong and safe, and his hands were gentle. Now Eric's mouth on her face is repulsive, his eyes calculating and glinting with evil. There is nothing gentle about his hands in her hair or on her skin. There is nothing sexy or devious about the way his hand is pushing roughly past the hem of her shirt as he puts his mouth to hers, cutting off her whimper.

His tongue is harsh and demanding, and she has a moment of blind panic as his hand slips up over her bra. She squirms, but he drives his fist into her side, making her groan in pain. "Shut up," he growls at her. "Shut the fuck up and take it like the slut Four has turned you into." Then her mouth is being invaded again by his lips and tongue, and she does the only thing she can think of. She bites down on his tongue as hard as she can, and she can taste his blood immediately.

His fist connects with the side of her face as he screams, so hard that she's sure she blacked out for at least a second. Then his boot connects with her side, and she feels the excruciating crunch of her rib cracking. She curls into a ball to protect herself from the blows, tears of pain and fear causing her to sob.

He pulls her to her feet by her arm, already bruising from the last time he grabbed her. This time she stumbles, dazed and in pain from the kicks and punches, and she feels her arm separate from her socket. She screams into her teeth, not bothering to hide her cries anymore.

He shoves her on to the rotting, smelly couch nearest the entrance, pinning her wrists on either side of her with his knees.

She shakes her head desperately as his hand finds the button of her pants. He leans over her as she struggles, watching with cruel amusement.

She tries to breathe, to calm herself down, to _think._ What is the one thing Caleb always told her to do if someone bigger than her pinned her down and she couldn't free her hands?

"_Knee 'em in the balls, sis."_

"_What?! But that's so..."_

"_If someone's robbing you or killing you or raping you, I promise you they don't give a shit if you're in pain or not. If you're pinned but you can free you legs, kick him between the legs and run for your life."_

Caleb... always the voice of reason to her when she doesn't know what to do. She bides her time, letting him kiss her and controlling her reactions. Then he shifts, and she brings her knee up as hard as she can. He howls in pain, and she slams her forehead into the bridge of his nose as hard as she can. He doubles over, groaning, and she stumbles to her feet and runs for the door, fumbling with the key she stole from his pocket.

"You bitch!" He growls, using the couch to crawl to his feet.

The door finally opens and there are hundreds of footsteps in the stairwell, stomping, yelling. "Clear!" calls out one voice after another. She trips twice on the stairs, and there is a series of bangs.

They are loud, hurting her ears so much she covers them with her hands. Will is aiming a gun, that's where two of the bangs came from. The other must be from another entrance—and more gunshots. There is screaming, but she doesn't know who is doing that. All she knows is that Will is here, and she can stop running now.

She slumps against him, and he slides down the wall with her. "Stay with me, Tris," he says. His voice is urgent and panicked, but she doesn't know why. All she wants to do is sleep. She can sleep and then visit Four tomorrow.

"Keep your eyes open," he snaps. His hand is grasping her neck.

Why is he being so insistent? Was she shot too?

The second she asks herself the question there is searing pain in her ribs and her neck, and her back. She whimpers as the waves of pain crash over her, drowning her. She tries to breathe, but she can't. Panic blinds her for a moment, but Will's voice is authoritative and calm, like Caleb's was not too long ago. "Calm down," he says quietly. "Just stay with me, sweetheart, there's an ambulance coming, okay?"

But something is pulling at her consciousness, begging her to just let go. The pain will go away if she can just close her eyes.

_But what about Tobias?_ The thought startles her and she jumps, the pain tearing at her insides and forcing a wet cough from her lungs. "Tob-bia—s..." she manages, but she can't speak anymore.

"He'll be okay."

"My ph-one," she wheezes. "He... I got..." she tries to focus on Will's face, on the green of his eyes, but it is all blurring too much. She lets her eyes slip closed... they are useless anyway.

"You got what, Tris? Answer me, okay? Stay with me."

"I... rec-co... cord—ed... he k-kill—h-her."

"You recorded a confession?" he asks, partly relieved but mostly incredulous.

She tries to nod, but he scolds her not to move. His hand presses harder into her neck, and she whimpers.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles. "I know it hurts... I'm sorry. Just stay with me, okay? Don't you do this to him, don't you leave him now." his voice is pleading, and she forces her eyes open to look at his. His relief is evident. "There," he breathes. "That's it. Stay with me, okay? You're going to be okay."

"You... h-have t-t—tell To—bia-s... tell-ll h-him I..." She draws a shuddering breath, but her lungs are drowning. Her eyes fly open in alarm as she claws at her throat, and he helps her tilt forward so that she can cough. They both cringe at the blood that pours from her lips.

She just wants to sleep. That's all she wants to do, is just sleep. She mumbles the words, too tired to say them with proper diction. "Tell him I loved him."

"Tris..."

"Tell him," she interrupts as her eyes slip closed, "that I didn't want to leave him."

"Stay with me," Will snaps. "Tris! Tris..."

But sleep has overcome her, and she welcomes its oblivion. It eases the pain.

In the distance she hears voices, shouting long words in muffled tones.

Will's voice is there, and he is the most insistent of all. "Stay," he says, his voice demanding and tight with panic. "Dammit, girl! Breathe!"

* * *

The ambulance workers rush her inside, along with nurses and doctors already shouting about units of blood and operating rooms that need to be cleared, and all Will can do is stare.

_Oh Jesus,_ he thinks, rolling up the bloody sleeves of his shirt, which was blue this morning before it was covered in red.

He pulls out his phone. "Fer," he mumbles.

"How is she?" he asks immediately.

"Not good," he mumbles. "Please tell me you found her phone."

"A CSI tech just found it. I'm playing back the recording. She's got them both on record, stating their names, and Eric played right into her ploy. Jesus, that girl is brilliant."

"Eric?"

"Dead," he says shortly. "The IA will be coming for your badge and gun, but there won't be much of an investigation. Everyone knows you shot him because he was firing on Tris. It's gonna be open and shut."

"Matthews?"

"Dead. Shot in the head after she stuck one of us with her damn _fear serum_ shit. They're doing everything they can for him, but..."

"Fuck," he mutters. "Who was it?"

"It was Collins."

Will frowns. Collins has been a cop for ten years. He just started his family. Now he's going to die a presumably horrible death. "Shit, man."

"I know. He saw his partner shoot her, though."

"Good," Will says, slightly mollified. "I'm going to go keep eyes on Tris. Listen up—don't let Four get wind of this. Keep it out of the press too, okay?"

"Sure," Fernando says easily. "I'll make sure everyone knows."

"Thanks."

* * *

Six hours have passed. There have been surgeries and _code blue_ alerts and Will paces in front of the door, frantic with worry. He frowns as he goes over the incident in her head, trying to think _what _he could have done to prevent this. All he sees in his mind is Tris, slumping in his arms, dazed and bleeding, her consciousness—her _life—_slipping away from her even though she fought hard to retain it.

_Fuck._

She stared at him with glassy eyes, her one hand clutching his shirt, her other hand pressed tightly to her body, a string on her sleeve caught on the teeth of her—wait. The teeth of her _fly? _He thinks back in his mind and grits his teeth. _Her fly was undone._ Holy fuck... did he...?

"Nurse? Nurse! I need to know if they've done a rape kit on Beatrice Prior. Has anybody notified her family?"

"I can't tell you that."

"I'm the detective on her case," he snaps. "If you have the damn rape kit, I need to see the results. If nobody has notified her family, I need to do so. It's my _job._ Now do yours."

The nurse at the desk glowers at him with a few keystrokes, makes her way into the correct patient chart. "Miss Prior didn't have need for a rape kit. The external exam showed no signs of bruising or fluids on her legs or gentials, no torn or disheveled clothing—more than natural for her situation, anyway. However they did find blood evidence inside her mouth... the notes say it is likely she bit him at so."

He breathes a sigh of relief and retrieves his cell phone again.

"Hi baby," Christina says brightly, and he feels himself calm down further. As high energy as she is, she always makes him feel calm and ready.

"Hey babe," he says softly. "I love you."

"I love you too, what's wrong?"

"Um... well, the case is closed," he offers lamely. "Fer should have forwarded you a recorded confession from Eric about his and Janine's involvement in Lynn's murder. Both are dead."

"Dead? What happened?"

"Look, you can't tell Four, okay? Tris was kidnapped."

"Holy shit," she breathes.

"I um... in the kidnapping, Uriah..."

"Uriah what?" she says flatly.

"Eric killed him," he says.

There is silence on the other line.

"I... I'm sorry," he says softly. "I... fuck. I'm sorry."

"Is Tris okay?" she asks, but her voice is hollow, numb.

"She's in surgery. She's pretty banged up but he shot her. Three times."

"Jesus. Will, _how _could this have _happened?!_"

"I don't know, okay? I... I warned her as soon as I could, but it was too late."

"She should have had a police escort. So should have Uriah, for that matter."

"The higher ups didn't want to approve the hours."

"This is bullshit," she says, and he can hear the tears in her voice.

"I'm... I'm so sorry, baby."

"I know," she sniffs. "What hospital? I'm on my way."

"Come quick, baby. I need you to... tell Caleb, and... and his mother and father."

"Right," she mutters. "I should probably call my aunt too. Fuck," she whispers, and then she's crying.

"Christina... baby, forget about Caleb and her parents. I will tell them, okay? You just... focus on your family. Okay? Can someone from your firm cover for you tomorrow?"

"No," she says sharply. "No. Tris will want me to be there. Uri..." her voice breaks. "There isn't anything I can do for him now, except make sure he didn't die for nothing."

"You're incredible," Will whispers with a sad smile. "I love you so much."

"I love you too."


	12. Chapter 11

**Sort of short, but I thought it would be nice to end the chapter here instead of forcing more stuff. Enjoy!**

* * *

"_No," she says sharply. "No. Tris will want me to be there. Uri..." her voice breaks. "There isn't anything I can do for him now, except make sure he didn't die for nothing."_

"_You're incredible," Will whispers with a sad smile. "I love you so much."_

* * *

The courthouse is full of people when he walks in, led by a bailiff. He stares down at his handcuffs, swallowing hard. This is the last time he will have to wear handcuffs... ever.

Last night, he, Rock, and Gabe celebrated his release with cigarettes that Gabe bummed off someone—who probably stole his pack from someone else. They were the only real friends he had had in years, and he was going to miss them. He resolved to visit both of them when he left.

Christina is tired and pale. She looks like she hasn't slept, and her lips are pressed into a tight line, the normally immaculate lipstick on them smudged from her biting and licking her lips. "Are you okay?" He asks her under his breath as the bailiff moves to the front of the courtroom.

She nods once, but the gesture is so stiff with tension that he knows she is lying. In fact, she's only holding herself together by one thread. What could have happened?

"All rise for the honorable judge Johanna Reyes."

He stands automatically, staring at his hands again. He's shaking, but he doesn't know why. Maybe it was because the last time he was in a place like this, it was when they condemned him to a prison cell for the rest of his life.

"Hey, relax," Christina says with a small smile. "It's going to be okay."

He nods and sits when the judge does. He looks around. Will and Fernando are sitting behind him. They are smiling, but they also look like they slept very little. Now he's suspicious. _What are they keeping from him?_

Then he notices. The person he was looking around for is not here. Tris should have been seated next to them, maybe with her friend Uriah, the one that Smarty Pants Prior always talks about. But she is not here. Where is she?

"Where's Tris?" He hisses at Christina as the DA speaks on about a grave injustice and various evidences and whatever else.

Christina shakes her head, a tiny, tense motion. "I will tell you when this is over."

"Maybe you should tell me now," he says, and his tone is a warning one.

She looks at him, and he remembers how his first impression of her was that she's scary as fuck without intentionally being intimidating. He swallows. "Is she okay?" he asks in a whisper, but Christina is saved from having to answer when the judge directs his questions to her.

He doesn't know how long the hearing is, but finally, he's asked to stand. He does, and the judge looks at him with kind eyes, but pitying ones. "This is inexcusable," she says, her voice somehow soft but firm at the same time. "Years of your life, Mr. Eaton, has been destroyed and wasted by the failure of our system to provide you with the proper justice. I am so sorry that you have had to suffer like this.

"I hereby declare Tobias Eaton innocent of the crime he was convicted of. His conviction is to be null and void, his criminal record is to be exponged, and he is to be released from prison immediately. Should he choose to pursue a settlement from the state for the damages that he has suffered, he will be provided the resources necessary to do so. You are free to go, Mr. Eaton."

He swallows, his whole body shaking. He didn't know how much he wanted this until it was happening. _He is free. _Oh, fuck... he slumps into his seat as soon as the hearing is adjourned, unable to stand. "What happens now?" he asks, his voice cracking.

"I'm going to take you to get your things, they'll outprocess you, and then I'm going to take you to see Tris. The outprocessing is _not optional._ Do you hear me? They have to register that you're being lawfully released so that you don't end up back in jail after everything that's happened to get you out."

"Oh...kay," he mumbles, suspicious again. "Why do you have to _take _me to_ see _Tris?"

Christina sighs, and the emotion she has been fighting all morning finally spills from her cheeks. "Four... Tris was kidnapped yesterday afternoon."

"_WHAT?!"_

"I know... I... but Will asked her to find Uriah and get to the district, because he was afraid that there had been a leak—I don't know all the details," she whispers desperately. "When she got home, Uriah was..." She sobs once, but draws a breath. "He was dead on the ground," she mumbles. "Eric was waiting for her, and he took her."

"That fucker..."

"Is dead, and so is Janine. Tris was smart and hid her phone. She called the police and recorded everything they said, including a confession from Eric saying clearly that he killed Lynn and that he was going to kill her too." She shudders. "I heard the recording and... It's bad, Four. It's really bad." She dabs under her eyes with her fingertips, then checks her face in a compact mirror she slips out of her purse. "Will got to her just as she was escaping, but Eric fired on them. Will shot him and killed him but Tris... she's hurt really bad."

"How bad?" he asks roughly.

"She's been touch and go the whole night. They managed to stop the bleeding but she lost so much blood, and then she's been—one of her... lungs... was collapsed and now... she needs you, okay? So let's get this over with as soon as possible, so you can see her."

If he was shaking before, he's in a damn earthquake now. She's dying.

_She's dying because of him._

* * *

Time passes. Four paces in front of the doors to the intensive care unit. He's been everywhere between sad and angry and desperate. Now he wants to hit something. People look at him strangely, but he doesn't care.

This time of the day, visiting is closed for the doctors and nurses to change shifts. Which means he has to wait. He _hates _waiting, not knowing... not being able to see her.

All he wants to do is just touch her one more time. Hold her hand, brush her hair with his lips like he always did when her arms were around him.

_Idiot,_ he internally screams. Tears spill down his face again, but he ignores them. _You damn idiot, Tris. You didn't have to do this._

Fernando lays a hand on his shoulder, but he shakes it off. "Leave me alone," he mumbles.

"I have coffee and food from the caf. You should eat. Keep your energy up so you can see her."

He sits automatically, shoving his food in his mouth without really tasting it at first—a habit from prison. That food was so revolting that if he ever stopped to think about what it was he was eating, he was guaranteed to vomit. Now, the salad is relatively fresh and the tuna smells like it came straight from the can, and the cheese actually resembles real cheese. He stares at the Styrofoam box for a second, eliciting amused looks from the rest.

"You know where not to end up if you think _that _shit tastes good."

Four sighs as he bites into... macaroni and cheese? Holy fuck, when was the last time he ate that? "Yeah well, fuck off. Prison food is probably about as edible as dog shit."

Christina cracks a tiny smile, and Four's own leaves his face. Her cousin _died _yesterday. He was murdered. Because of him, she'd never see her loved one again. He stares at his food, suddenly not hungry anymore. _How could he be worth all of this?_

* * *

"Beatrice Prior?"

Four skids to a halt as Fer, Christina, and Will stand. The doctor smiles at them. "You all are here for Miss Prior?"

Then nod in unison.

"Okay. My name is Doctor Rita Davidson, I'm the on-call doctor overseeing her treatment tonight. I can only let two of you back at a time, but I figure you all would like an update on her condition. She's doing remarkably well. Brain activity is normal—too normal, even," the she says with a smirk. "The wounds have minimal bleeding, the surgery has successfully corrected all of her injuries and removed both the bullet in her thoracic cavity as as well as the bullet in her side. She's already fighting with the ventilator, breathing on her own about seventy percent of the time. These first twenty-four hours are critical for us to determine when or if we can bring her back to consciousness, and so far, she is doing great. We may be able to wake her up by the end of the week."

"Wait," Four says, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. "What do you mean 'wake her up'? Why can't you wake her up now? Is she... fuck, is she in a _coma?!_"

The woman gives an understanding smile. "I'm sorry. I know this is a difficult time for all of you. Since Beatrice—"

"Tris," he says. "She prefers Tris."

"Very well. Since Tris's injury collapsed her lung, we've had to put a tube down her throat to force ventilation—in other words, to keep her breathing properly and keep lungs expanding and contracting normally, so that she doesn't have respiratory failure.

"Now, if she had to have that while she were awake, it would be extremely terrifying and uncomfortable for her, and she would hinder her own healing process. So, generally speaking, a patient that needs a ventilator, like Tris, is placed in a chemically-induced coma. We use sedatives and medications to keep her from waking up. That way she can rest while her body heals enough for us to pull out the tube.

"When it is time for us to wake her up, we will do so slowly, over many hours, so that she is one, comfortable, and two, monitored properly. If her breathing fails when she is awake, then she will have to remain on the ventilator. So, it is easier for us to pull back on the drugs a little bit, so that she can react and see you all and we can check if she still fights the ventilator. If she does, we will take her off drugs and pull the tube out. If she can't, then we will increase the drugs again so that she sleeps while her body heals. She's had a great deal of trauma."

Four swallows. "So she's not going to die?"

"No," Dr. Davidson says, squeezing his shoulder. "Your Tris seems like a fighter. I have the feeling that she will recover just fine."

"Can I see her now?" he croaks.

"Of course," she replies gently. "Please, follow me."

* * *

He doesn't leave the room in intensive care, except to use the bathroom or when Will or Christina force him to go down to the cafeteria to eat something, usually about the same time the nurses are also giving him the boot so they can change shifts. His hand is always in hers, his lips always near her hair. He watches her constantly. On the first day, she was still, her skin pale and slick with sweat. By the second day, color had started to return to her lips, even though they were dry. He got a tiny tube of vaseline while he was gone to eat once, and applies it to her lips every day now.

By the third day, the doctor said she could breathe without the help of the ventilator at least ninety percent of the time—they hadn't seen anyone recover respiratory function that quickly before, not after being shot in the lung.

_She got shot in the lung. _Jesus. And in the neck... and in the side. The bullet ruptured something or other as well as nicking a major artery. _She should have died. But she's still here._

"You're so strong," he told her, brushing her hair back from her ear so that he can kiss her there. "I miss you. Come back to me, okay?"

By the fourth day, yesterday, her eyes fluttered and rolled, as if she was looking for something, or someone. He asked if she was okay, and the nurse informed him that they'd pulled back on the Propofol, just a little bit. They'd already started the process of weening her off the medications so that she could wake up.

Today she is still sleeping, but she is uncomfortable, he can tell. He soothes her the best that he can, but her eyes roll and flutter, and her eyebrows draw toward eachother sometimes, just enough to create a tiny wrinkle between them. Her forehead is slick with sweat, and her skin is strangely both hot _and _cold.

He doesn't really know what to say to her, so he just stays silent. He feels sort of useless right now.

Christina comes to get him out when visiting closes for shift change, and she takes him to her and Will's place so that he can shower and sleep and eat. He showers numbly and tosses in his sleep, turning this way and that. His dreams are filled with Tris and blood, and screams and gunshots, and when he jerks awake, he's only slept for thirty minutes. He sits up on the couch and scrubs his face with his palms to keep them from trembling.

"Hey," Will says quietly. "You want to get going? Visiting will open soon."

"Uh... right," Four mutters, clearing his throat. He quickly dresses in a pair of borrowed sweat pants and a hoodie. He hasn't tried to buy clothes or anything like that, because he's spent all his time in the hospital.

Will is silent most of the drive to the hospital, and Four is grateful for that. When they park in the garage, he speaks. "I... think you should know. She... before the ambulance came, she told me to tell you that she loves you."

Four's chest tightens uncomfortably. "She did?" he asks roughly.

"She said, 'tell him I didn't want to leave him'... she thought she was going to die. The only thing that kept her alive is _you._ You know that, don't you?"

He gulps. "I... just don't know why. Why _me_ of all people? I just don't get it."

"I do," Will says after a silence. Then he gets out of the car and heads for the exit, leaving Four in a thoughtful silence.

* * *

_Surgery. She's in surgery again. _Four paces in front of Will, forcing himself to keep the roiling, debilitating panic inside of him rigidly under control. The family waiting room is large and filled with various other family and friends that are waiting for news on their loved ones. A surgeon came earlier and pulled some people aside. There was a moment of quiet, and then a loud wail.

It was obvious that that woman's loved one did not survive the surgery.

The panic rises in him like lava in a volcano, hot and bitter and violent, sending shuddering earthquakes down his spine, warning everyone nearby that an erruption is soon to come.

"She'll be okay," Will whispers. "She's strong. She will be okay."

Four dismisses the words. They aren't as helpful as Will wants them to be. All they do is beg the question, _but what if she's not? _

"Prior?" calls a voice.

Will stands, seeing the surgeon that addressed him after the first surgery. "That's her surgeon, he was her doctor when they had to take the bullets out in her first surgery."

Four skids to a halt and waits, making himself stand still and keep his face as calm as he can.

"You must be here for Miss Prior," the surgeon says kindly. "She's doing great. She's stable, and they are just about finished closing her wound so that she can be returned to her room to recover."

"Why did she need more surgery?" Will asks, knowing Four is about to burst with the question.

"She seemed to be developing some infection in the bullet wound in her side, and scans showed that there was an abcess forming—a pocket of infection, that is. So, we went in and removed it and cleaned up in there so it won't happen again. She'll be perfectly fine." The suregeon looks over at Four. "She'll be perfectly fine," he repeats, touching his shoulder. "Be strong, alright?"

"Thank you, sir," Will says, shaking his hand. Four can't speak, so he just nods.

She's okay.

_She's okay._

* * *

Intensive care is a dismal place to be, but he doesn't care. It isn't more awful than jail, and he's not in there because she's in here, so fuck anyone who thinks he plans on leaving at any point soon.

She has been in this ward for eight days. They've been weening her off the drugs again, progressively lightening the amount of sedatives, but staying heavy on the pain killers, a little bit.

He smiles a little bit when her head turns slightly toward him. She knows he is there. "Hey there, Little Sparkler," he whispers. "I love you, come back to me soon, okay?" There is no obvious response, but her pulse spikes for a moment before returning to normal. "I'm here, Tris," he says. "You did it. You got me out, and now I'm here with you, and I'm not leaving you." He sighs a small chuckle. "You know, when I first started talking to your brother, I told him 'when something good happens to you, you don't ask questions. You just go with it.' But I haven't been following my own advice very much, have I?" He swallows. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I... I don't get why you love me, why you would go through all of this to help me... but I won't question it anymore. I won't push you away from me anymore. If you... just come back to me," he begs in a whisper, "I swear to you, I'm going to just go with it. Okay?"

From the doorway a nurse speaks. "Look."

He startles, looking first at the door and then at her face. Her eyes are glazed and blurry, but they are on him. Her lips try to form his name around the tube in her mouth, but Four stops her. "Shh, baby. Don't try to speak, it will hurt."

She frowns at him, irritated that he interrupted her. She draws a breath, wincing at the pain, and then she tries again. _Tobias,_ her lips read. _Tobias... I love you._


	13. Chapter 12

_She frowns at him, irritated that he interrupted her. She draws a breath, wincing at the pain, and then she tries again._ Tobias_, her lips read. _Tobias... I love you.

* * *

He beams at her, relief flooding through him so intensely that he has to sit. "I love you too," he says to her gently, pressing his lips to her hand. "Thank you, baby."

She coughs a little bit, and her hand automatically moves toward her throat, only to be jerked to a halt about halfway there. In the next second there is pandemonium and he's being pushed out the door, all his protests ignored. "Wait... what's going on? Hey, let me go!"

"Sir, we have to calm her down—"

"Then move out of my fucking way!" he snaps, pushing past the many nurses and doctors to her bedside. "Everyone, back the fuck off," he growls, and everyone pauses what they are doing, involuntarily stepping back. "Tris," he says, his voice low but stern. Her eyes fly to meet his, wide and terrified. "Hey," he says gently. "What scared you, baby?"

Her breathing impossibly fast, and tears mix with the sweat that has broken out on her face. More tears roll into her hair, and she shifts, pain causing more tears to gather.

"Stop moving."

She stills, and he takes her hand. It is shaking, and her grip on his hand is white-knuckled when he looks down, making the tan cuff on her wrist dig painfully into her skin.

O_h. _If he'd been attacked by a psychotic asshole like Eric, waking up tied to a bed would freak him out, too.

"Listen to me," he says in her ear. "The things wrapped around your legs are to keep you from getting blood clots, okay? The doctor says you need those while you can't move around, and that's so that your stay healthy and keep getting better. The things holding your wrists down are just so that you don't try to pull out any tubes you aren't supposed to. That's all it is, okay?"

Her eyes are still alarmed, but her breathing slows. He was right. The restraints and leg massagers caused her to panic. "Listen to me, baby. Nobody is going to hurt you here, okay? I'm not going to let them."

She lets go of his hand and curls her fingers, imitating someone scribbling.

"You want to write?"

She nods, and a doctor scrambles to pull a pen out of his pocket while a nurse looks around for a piece of paper. When he puts the pen in her hand, she starts to write immediately. _Get them off._

"I can't do that for you, Little Sparkler," he says, frowning.

_Get them off_, she writes again. _Please._

"Tris?" Her eyes dart over to the doctor immediately. "Hi, there. I'm your doctor tonight," he says, putting his pen back in his pocket. "I want to take those restraints off you, honey, but first we've got to get that tube out of your throat, okay?"

She stares at him, her panic gone, replaced by an expression that clearly communicates that she is not pleased. She motions for the pen again, and with a glare, she writes, _I'm _not_ your honey. Don't call me that._

Four coughs to hide his laughter.

"Sorry," the doctor says with a chuckle. "Just Tris, then?"

She nods once, the motion clearly painful to her.

"Very well. Just Tris," he says with a wink. He earns a glare that makes Four laugh again. "We're going to see about pulling that tube out tomorrow, depending on how you're holding up, okay? And then we'll pull those damn restraints for you. Have some patience, Just Tris. We're going to take good care of you here."

"Behave, Little Sparkler," he says to her gently, laughter still in his tone, as he reads her dangerous expression.

_Fuck you, Four,_ she writes in response.

"Soon," answers with a wink. She levels him with a glare too, and he laughs again, kissing her hair. Yes, she will be just fine.

* * *

They pulled the breathing tube out two days ago. She can't really move around much because of the pain, but she can talk now, and she's been sitting upright in her bed for a solid hour. Sometimes she's in good spirits, and sometimes the pain drives her up the damn wall. Most of the time, she just stares dreamily at Four, the pain-killer-induced fog in her brain making her feel especially affectionate.

Today, Four is both amused and concerned by the rather high dose of Dilaudid that they just pushed into her IV. "Jesus, what'd they do to you?" he asks under his breath when he sees her, glassy-eyed and smiling. She beckons him to sit next to her on the bed, sticking her tongue out at him as he lowers himself carefully next to her. "You're acting like a lunatic," he mumbles, suppressing his laughter.

"That's... not a very nice thing to say," she pouts. "They just put me in a good mood, that's all. The pain is going away."

"Well that's good, Little Sparkler."

"Will you quit calling me that?" she mumbles. "My name is Tris."

"Except when you get that attitude like you're going to explode at someone, but all you do is spark a little."

"I've got your sparks right here," she says, flinging a hand at his chest. He catches it and kisses it before massaging it gently. Her eyes turn dreamy again, and he grins.

"See? Just like a sparkler, all sparks and no burn."

"You're not very nice," she mumbles. Then her expression changes, her eyes lighting up as she smiles. "So that's why you like me! Because I'm not very nice, either."

"You're the kindest person I've ever met," he responds. Then he winks. "Except when you're irked," he adds with a smirk.

"I like you too," she says shyly, and her cheeks flush light pink.

"Well that's encouraging," he says with a laugh, pressing a kiss to her cheek, still warm from earlier.

He trails kisses to the corner of her mouth as she asks, "Is it really?"

He pecks her lips once, twice, three times. "You have no idea," he whispers.

"Kiss me more," she demands, and he complies happily.

* * *

He's in Christina's office. It has been two weeks since Tris was sucessfully moved out of the ICU and into a regular room, and since then, he's been a lot more relaxed, sleeping longer, leaving for longer periods of time to get some things done.

He's never been here before, so he is looking around curiously. There is a huge wall behind a comfortable couch, but instead of some pretentious piece of art, the wall is patterned with decorative frames in different sizes and shapes. Some contain Tris's paintings, some contain decorative mirrors, and other contain pictures. He scans the pictures, smiling. Tris is in one of them, wearing a silvery blue bikini, at the beach, smiling brightly as she laughs at the camera. Next to her, someone he presumes to be Uriah, with board shorts with his arm thrown around her. Jealousy boils in his blood, but he forces himself to see the next picture.

Christina and Will, dancing at some rooftop party. They look so happy his teeth hurt, like he ate something too sweet.

Tris and Christina, each in their pajamas, Christina painting Tris's nails a deep purple while Tris laughs about something or other.

Uriah again, spraying water at Tris, who still has her soapy cloth on her blue mustang.

A group of people, Tris, Uriah, and Christina included, wearing tan coveralls and safety glasses, their saggy jumpers covered in various shades of neon paint. Tris is holding what appears to be a paintball gun, and everyone is smiling and cheering.

"You like my wall, huh?"

He turns and nods. "Yeah," he says quietly. "It's... it's a surprisingly happy wall."

"I don't want to be some asshole lawyer, in it for the money," Christina says simply. "That wall is to remind me what I work for. In every one of those pictures, the people I love are happy, and they're happy because they are free. And they're free because people like me make sure the law doesn't stomp all over them."

Four thinks about that for a long time. In the last frame, there's a picture of Tris wearing a black dress with a metal bow right in the front. Her hair cascades over one shoulder, and her stance is confident, her smile bright and relaxed, as she speaks to an older man in a suit. Behind them are the canvasses with her series on his tattoo. "I want this picture," he pipes up randomly.

She grins. "I'll print you a copy. Have a seat, we have a lot of things to discuss. First off, the paper work for your name change has come through. Congratulations, your name is now officially Tobias Johnson."

He smiles, relieved. He wants nothing to do with that monster that raised him, not even the damn name. Plus, someone with a heart as beautiful as Tris's should never be associated with that name. Wait... what?

"Here's your driver's license, birth certificate. I put a rush on your passport too, so here's that." She hands him the documents briskly and he stares at them blankly for a long moment before she snaps her finger in front of his face. "Hey, wake up!" she smirks, but then she grows serious. "It's weird, isn't it? Having an ID again? Being on the grid for the first time in your life, really."

He nods. "Sort of frightening."

"Don't let it be," she says. "You've survived worse things than, I don't know, _actually_ having a _life_."

He smirks. "You're right. Your ironic tone is completely unnecessary, but you're right."

She smiles sweetly at him, batting her eyelashes. "I do what I can." she shuffles her empty envelopes that contained Four's identity aside and continues, opening another file and clicking through files in her computer. "Okay, the next order of business is this: I was able to track down various members of your mother's family, like you asked." The printer comes to life, and several pictures stream from it. "This is your mother's older brother, James. He is fifty-three years old, has two kids aged seventeen and twenty-one, by his first wife, named Hector and Bobby. He's got a third child, a little girl age eight, by his second wife, named Kelly."

He stares at the picture of the man, and then of the pictures of his children. _His cousins. _Holy shit.

"This is your mother's younger sister, Therese. She is forty-eight. She's been married twice, but no children." The woman in the picture looks tired, with dull brown hair that starting to show lots of salt and pepper. _His aunt._

"You okay? I know this is weird."

"I mean, I... I don't know. These people don't know me, they don't know my mother either... not anymore. They don't know what she went through. How do I... how do I approach these people?"

"Well, when the investigator found them, he did notify them both of her death and that she had a son. They are waiting on word to meet you."

"Really?"

"Really," Christina says with a smile. "This is your family, Four. Think about it, for sure. But don't... don't shut them out completely. You each have a piece of Evelyn that the other needs to see."

* * *

"Hi," she says, smiling as he sits carefully on her bed and wraps his arms around her. His embrace is gentle, but he is clearly brooding. "What's wrong?"

He shakes his head. "Just missed you, that's all," he mumbles.

She pulls back a little bit and raises an eyebrow. "Talk," she says, and he sighs.

"Fine. Christina found... people. My mother's family, her brother and sister. _My cousins. _I mean, I... I don't even know..."

Her eyes sparkle. "You found your mother's family? Tobias this is... this is amazing. Wait, this is what you want, isn't it?"

"I just want to know that someone besides me remembers her," he whispers, and his shoulders sag.

She rubs his back with her good arm—her other shoulder is dislocated, the ribs on that side severely bruised from the kicks that she received. She will be sore a long time, but she doesn't let that show right now. She wants to be strong for him.

"Tobias," she says. "Those people, whoever they turn out to be, _loved _your mom until the day she disappeared from them, and even after that. I promise you that they did _not _forget her, not ever. They will always love her, same as you." She leans forward, and he meets her lips gently, supporting her back with his hand.

"How do you feel?" he mumbles at last.

"Like I just got lots of kisses from my incredibly sexy, awesome boyfriend," she answers cheekily.

He smiles at her, kissing her lips again. "You'll have to introduce me someday," he says. "Seriously, how are you?"

"I'm okay. Everything hurts. You know, the usual. I feel like I got shot, actually," she says with a self-depricating chuckle. "Docs say my scans look good and that the bullet-holes are healing well. I still feel short of breath a lot."

"Are you short of breath now?"

"No. They've been adjusting my oxygen all day." She points to the clearish-blue tube that runs under her nose and behind her ears, and then to the monitor in the corner of the room, where a blue squiggly line registers her breathing rate and oxygen saturation.

"They also said that my neck is healing really well. You know... the bullet tore into my carotid artery, they said, but they looked at it and they scanned it with dye, and..."

"Yeah? How'd that go?"

"Okay," she mumbles with a shrug.

He frowns. "Baby, you know they won't hurt you here."

"I know."

"You don't have to be afraid of the stuff they put in your tubes. They just want to help you get better."

"I know that," she says, and she's frustrated. "I know but..."

"But you were just this side of being killed by a psychotic scientist and her equally insane gangbanger son, and so that shit freaks you out. Understandable. But they didn't stick you with anything, and somehow, Eric's aim turned out to be pretty fuckin' terrible, so you're still here. You can't let them haunt you forever."

She smiles a little. "Well, I guess you're right. I'm still here." Then she grins. "Eric's aim was pretty spot on, then."

Four laughs. "That's one way to look at it."

"Are you going to visit your mom's siblings?"

He sighs. "I can't... I don't know. I don't want to do that. I don't want to leave you here."

She bites her lip. "I don't want you to worry about me," she says. "This is your _blood._ They knew your mom. You should meet them. Get some closure—or maybe, start over with them, as a family. Get to know them. I don't know. Your options are limitless now. Don't limit them on account of me being in here." She smirks. "I seem to remember that somebody famous said once, 'When something good happens to you, you don't ask questions, you just go with it.' So, go with it. Follow your gut instinct. Talk to them. If you feel that you need them in your life, reach out to them. Okay? I'll always be alright here."

He smiles at her, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. "Thank you, baby. I love you."

"I love you too, Tobias."

* * *

_Dear James,_

_I understand you were contacted a few weeks ago regarding your sister, Evelyn. I'm... very sorry for your loss._

_My name is Tobias Johnson. I am Evelyn's son... the only one. That I know of, anyway. I thought you would like to know about my mother's life after you knew her. Be warned... it isn't a happy story. I suppose you knew that already, because she was murdered, after all, and no story that ends like that is a happy one._

_I want you to know that I have every intention of making the person responsible for her death pay for what he did to her... and to me. You see, my father, her domestic partner (not husband, I recently found out that they never were legally married) started dating her when she was... I don't know, seventeen or eighteen. He's older than her, much older. But I was born from that relationship, and they eventually bought a home together._

_The earliest memory I have is of them fighting and my mother crying and bleeding in the bathroom. My father hurt her almost every day. When I was little, I used to hide under my bed while he did... but that doesn't mean I didn't _see _what he did to her. _

_I idolized my mom. Whenever my father went away for his job, she would take me out to the park, buy me gifts—although I realize now that those gifts always earned her a beating, something about wasting money—and take me to see things I had never seen before. She had the best laugh, and a dimple in her left cheek, and I miss her all the time._

_When I was nine, my father kicked her so hard, for so long, that she fell asleep with me on the living room floor because she hurt too much to breathe, let alone move. When I woke up, my father sent me to school. When I came back, he told me she was dead. I don't even know where he put her body..._

_After that, it was just him and me, and he made me feel so... broken and useless... I ran. I lived in the street from the time I was sixteen, till just two months before my twentieth birthday, when I was convicted of a crime and sentenced to life in prison._

_Now I know what you're thinking, "Great! My sister's only son, her legacy, is a convicted felon." That isn't true. But it's not a story I should tell here. It's a story for some day, when if meet face to face and I can introduce you to the reason I'm alive and well today. But the reader's digest version is, I didn't do what they said I did. I spent ten years in jail, but I swear to you on my mother's life, I did not do it. The truth was discovered, and the real criminals were killed by the police when they tried to apprehend them. _

_Now I am free, and they said that you want to meet me so... here I am, I guess. As fucked up an individual as you'll ever meet, but it's not my job to tell you who you do and don't want to know. I've learned not to question those things recently, and I'm doing my best at letting myself be cared about. _

_I don't have much to offer... but I know my mom would want me to know you and tell you what I can about her, so if you decide to answer me, I'll be happy to keep talking to you about her. I miss her and I know you do too._

_Sincerely,_

_Tobias Johnson._

* * *

"What do you think?"

"It's great. He'll be so happy to hear from you." Tris smiles at him, but the smile comes out like a wince.

He sighs. "How bad's your pain?"

"Seven of ten," she says shortly.

"Should I ask for a pain-killer?"

"Please."

"Okay." He pages for the nurse and she slips into the room shortly after, a clear syringe with the needle detatched in her hand. Tris tenses, squeezes his hand tightly, and he gently rubs it with his thumb. She releases a harsh breath when the nurse leaves, wincing in pain again. "Try to sleep, okay?"

She nods. "They will love you when they meet you," she whispers.

"How do you know?" he asks.

"Because I did."

* * *

"Tris?"

"Mm?" She grips the pole with her IVs on it hard, stepping forward slowly.

"Have you thought about... where you're going to stay... when you get out of here?"

She frowns. "I don't know. I mean... I've thought about moving in with my parents, but that's more drama than I need right now."

He ponders that. "Would you consider... moving in... with me?"

She stops short, looking up at him. "Oh, Four..." she sighs, pressing herself into his chest and wrapping her good arm around him. "I love you, you know," she whispers. "It's too soon for something like that, you know?"

"Says who?"

"Not too long ago I told you I would never see you again," she mumbles, staring at her feet. "Not too long ago, you were practically forcing me to break up with you. We have... so many things to heal from."

He frowns, stepping away. "You... you know I didn't mean—"

"Yeah I know," she says, smiling at him. But her face is burdened, her smile heavy. "I... It hurts just the same. You know I'm right... you know it still tears you up that I considered leaving you."

He swallows. She's right. That night in the hospital was the worst night of his life, because he was absolutely positive that he'd pushed her away for good.

She swallows. "My telling you isn't good enough," she whispers, and there are tears in her eyes. "You need to figure out on your own just how much you are worth. That's the only way you'll every forgive me for all of this."

He frowns. "Forgive you?"

She gives him a look. "You can't tell me you weren't at least a little bit mad at me when you found out I got shot."

_You damn idiot, Tris. You didn't have to do this. _The thought clawed at the inside of his skull until he wanted to rip his brain out through his ear while he was waiting to see her when he got out of prison. How is it that this girl knows his emotions better than he does? He is afraid. He's never let anyone this close to him before—he never _intended_ to let her get that close. But she did somehow.

She smiles sadly, pressing her lips to his cheek. "We both have a lot of things to process, don't we?"

He nods. "You're right," he whispers, kissing her forehead in response. "I... don't want to leave you."

"Nothing has to change," she says. "You... you _know _that I love you, don't you? And I know you love me. And I want to be with you so much, I can practically taste it. But I want to be with you forever, and that means that we can't screw this up. Okay?"

"You're smart as a whip, do you know that?"

She smiles.

* * *

He did get an apartment on his own... living on Will and Christina's couch was getting to be supremely uncomfortable.

It is sparsely furnished, but comfortable. The couches are dark, and supremely fluffy. Christina found him big, huggable cushions, and gave him Will's old TV, which he replaced when she moved in. She also gave him her bed frame and headboard, which was perfect because he couldn't really afford much of anything.

That is changing today... he hopes. He is nervous, but he wipes his hands on the new dress pants he recently acquired, and he moves into the restaurant. The man waiting for him is wearing a tee-shirt and jeans, and a smile. He's wiping down tables with a washcloth. "Hello there," he says kindly. "You must be Tobias."

"Nice to meet you, sir."

"Please, call me David."

He nods, reaching out his hand. The older man takes it and shakes it firmly.

His interview is going fairly well so far. He's trying for a job as a bartender at a place called _Gloss._ It's sort of high end, but he learned a long time ago to make drinks in the Dauntless compound, and that's a skill he's surprised he still has. Moving around the bar comes back fairly easily and the manager is impressed with how quickly he catches on to some of the fancier drinks, and his knowledge of the different types of beer and the differences flavor of other drinks.

He freezes, though, when the manager, David, starts asking about his resume. "I was curious that your resume is pretty much blank, even though you are thirty years old. You've clearly bartended before, but you have no references."

"Uh... well, that's sort of a long story," he mutters. "I was... recently released from prison, about three weeks ago, actually, or so."

"But in the section of your application where it asks if you—"

"That section also says that you can check 'No' if you weren't convicted of if your conviction has been overturned." He draws a breath, figuring he should move on to the next drink that David asked him to prepare so that he can drink the damn thing. "I didn't do what they said I did, but nobody listened... and frankly, I sort of just gave up. Recently, someone risked her life to prove my innocence, and that evidence was taken to court so that I could be released. I don't have a criminal record because I am not a criminal."

"And what did they say that you did?" David asks curiously.

"Kill someone," he says shortly. "Here's the sangria."

David sips it, nad then tastes another sip. "Very good," he says approvingly. "I'm sorry to hear your predicament... that must have been very difficult."

He shrugs. "I'm used to difficult."

"Clearly," David says, quietly. "Hopefully things get easier for you from here on in," he says with a smile, raising his glass.

Four smiles, raising his glass too. "They already are."


	14. Chapter 13

"_Hopefully things get easier for you from here on in," he says with a smile, raising his glass._

_Four smiles, raising his glass too. "They already are."_

* * *

"Tris!"

She looks up from her view of the window, confused but smiling. "Hey."

"He wrote back! He emailed me back!"

She takes in his excitement and nervousness. "Did you read it yet? Let me see."

"I can't... I set my email up at the library, so..."

"Right. Well, what'd he say? Quit keeping me in suspense!"

"He was... sorry. He said he was sorry about what mom and me went through. He said that if he'd known, he would have gone after Dad himself. He says he wants me to fly out. I..." he sighs. "This is totally overwhelming. I mean... he says he wants to meet me, and he even sent pictures, of like, his family and stuff and..." He frowns. "I could never fit in with that family," he whispers. "I mean, they're like, this perfect family and I'm this fucked-up ex-gangbanger from jail, and I just..."

"He will love you because he loved your mother," Tris says sternly.

"But..."

"Tobias," she interrupts. "You're smart and charming and thoughtful."

"Yeah, but you like me, you're supposed to say that stuff."

She grins. "Am I?"

He frowns.

"Actually what I think I said was that you're not nice, and that I like you."

His eyebrow quirks. "You remember that?"

"Yeah. I was high but not that high." She giggles. "I still like you."

"Uh huh," he mumbles, leaning forward to kiss her lips. "That's still encouraging."

* * *

A man, taller than her—taller than Tobias, too, actually—with a thin frame and wearing a suit, slips into her room, his expression harried. "Beatrice! Oh, honey, are you alright?"

Tris rolls her eyes. "_Now _you show up? I got shot more than a month ago. And it's Tris. I prefer Tris."

"So it's true?!"

"Yes, Dad. I'm so glad you care," she snips, sarcasm coating her words like venom over the sharp teeth of a snake. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," he says, hurt.

"Well, now you saw me. So, now you can leave."

"What is your problem with me?"

"My _problem_ is that they shot me three times. They tore _two _major arteries. _Two. _My carotid artery, which by all accounts should have made me bleed out in a minute by itself, and an artery in my side, the one that feeds your important internal organs. They told me that I stopped breathing, and that they used six times my blood volume to keep me alive in the operating room. Where were you when I was dying?" She whispers. "What the _fuck_ was more important than being here?!"

"I had to work," he says with a frown.

"Work," she snorts. "Always work. Never an ounce of shit to give for your own kids."

" I am your father, you don't get to speak to me that way," he snaps, agitated.

"You haven't been a father to anybody since Caleb and I were young."

"How dare you blame that boy's obsession on me!"

"I didn't," she says, raising an eyebrow. "But now that you mention it, Caleb could have used a _father_ to talk to him instead of shuffling him off to genius school."

"I did the best for my son, and he almost destroyed _my _reputation."

"You don't know anything, do you?" she growls derisively. "The only reason Caleb did all of those things was fo _me! _Because _you _were nowhere to be seen. You didn't bother to show up as a parent until I went to college, and that was only to make sure I'd be your perfect little politician's daughter, and shuffle right into the family business. Well guess what, I'm not, and I didn't. I do what I love and I'm successful with it—I became successful despite everything you did to make sure I wouldn't be. Tell me something," she says, and her eyes narrow in suspicion. "Just what had you so busy that you didn't bother to educate your son not to become a thief, hmm? Whose reputation was more important than that of your child?"

"Your attitude is completely uncalled for," her father says coolly. "I only came to see that you're alright."

"I've been fine without you all my life," she answers shortly, "so you should just go. And so you know, the shitstorm that is coming at you is too big for you to clean up. So save yourself if you can, but I won't be helping you and nobody will have any sympathy for you."

"What in the world does that mean?"

"It means that you should leave."

"Uh, hi." Tobias slips into her room and goes to where she is sitting by the window, kissing her temple gently. "Hey there, Little Sparkler," he whispers in her ear. "Relax, baby. Your oxygen thing is beeping. Take slow breaths, okay? I'll get rid of him."

She smiles gratefully at him and turns back to the window.

Four turns, summoning his most dangerous expression, which as it turns out, is no expression at all. "Leave now," he says flatly. "You're agitating her, and her lung needs to recover. You have about five seconds before I call security, and about ten seconds before I _become _security."

"This is outrageous! You cannot make me leave my—" he cuts off when Four crosses his arms.

It is then that he notices the scars on his knuckles, the beginning of a tattoo underneath the sleeve of his dress shirt, the muscles that bulge and flex as he shifts. His expression changes from flat and deadly to _sneering _and deadly.

"You should know I don't approve of the company you keep," he mumbles.

"The company I keep," Tris answers calmly, "has been keeping me company since before I was even conscious, which is more than I can say for you."

Four's eyebrow quirks, and Andrew Prior turns and leaves. "Who was that asshole?" he asks when the older man is gone.

"My father," she says, and his eyes widen.

"You could have told me that!" he hisses anxiously. "He's going to hate me forever."

"The feeling will be mutual, I assure you," Tris mutters.

* * *

He's trying his drinks on Christina in his apartment while they talk about what's next. "Well, the state of Illinois has agreed to provide you with job placement, which, from what I hear, you're already using to its full extent, as well as mental health services and—"

"Now wait just a second... how, no, _why _would I need mental health services?"

"Because your father is a certified, Class A asshole, and you watched your girlfriend die horribly and then were convicted for her murder. If those aren't issues that warrant a damn therapist, I can't really tell you what are. Besides... Tris would want to know you're working out your stuff without her, you know?"

"Fine. So _if _I were to accept that, how much are we talking about?"

"Six hundred grand."

"That's it? They wasted ten year of my life and that's the best they can do?"

Christina smiles. "Which is why we're going to file separate lawsuits. One we filed for wrongful conviction, and a separate one for damages, and one for compensation for legal fees, and one at the pharmaceutical company that manufactured the drugs that killed Lynn. We aren't likely to win that, but it'll be all over the news so they'll settle in a heartbeat to keep it out of the papers."

"Will that make it a longer process? And why legal fees? And how much would all of that be?"

"I gotta make money too, sweetie. I got you out for free, because I don't believe in letting someone rot so they can't pay. But this I gotta charge for. Don't worry, you don't have to pay anything until we win or settle. And let's just say, we're _both _going to be rich by the time we're done with the State of Illinois and Erudite Pharmaceuticals."

"That's a relief," he mutters.

"Cool. Now about Marcus, we're going to move forward with the criminal case."

He swallows. "What does that mean?"

"For you and Tris, it means the following: He can't talk to you about the case. He can't tell you to do anything. If he does either, you come to me. If you start feeling uncomfortable, like you're being intimidated because of the case, you come to me. People will come to take the full statement of your accusation. You have the right to ask me to be there, and also understand that they don't have the right to make you incriminate yourself, so if you did something wrong and you don't want to say it, they can't make you."

"I didn't do anything wrong, I was a kid."

"Fair enough," Christina says, smirking a little.

"What happens after that?"

"After that they investigate. Naturally, they'll ask questions to Marcus' staff, his friends, whoever else. The press is probably going to be all over this, so Will is working on putting together a police escort for you and security for Tris at the hospital, should it become necessary. You know that Will isn't in charge of your case anymore, right?"

"Yeah, I know. You said something about a federal case. I don't believe that's Will's specialty..."

"Then you believe correctly," she grins. "So, I will be helping you with this. Naturally if you have any questions, call me. Oh, that reminds me. I added you to this plan until you can get your own. It's a... Sprint thing. Everyone's on the same plan, but you each get separate bills... that way you don't feel bad about me paying your bill or something, I know guys get awkward about that shit. So. I got you a cellphone. It already has my number, Tris, Will, Fernando, your work number, programmed into it, as well as other things I thought you might want to know. Local takeout and pizza, taxi numbers, et cetera." She reaches into her bag and pulls out a white box. On it is drawn a...

"What the heck?"

"Don't worry, it's easier to work than it looks. Open it."

He opens the box and pulls out the phone. It is slim and sleek, white glass covering the front of a touch screen, and gold, lightly brushed metal on the back. There is an apple in the middle of the metal. "You didn't... you didn't have to..."

"Tris said she never got you a birthday gift," she says with a smirk. "We put our heads together and came up with the idea of introducing you to the world of modern technology. This is an iPhone. The model is called 5s, don't ask me why. You can download music, videos, and applications, and you can send messages and even video chat with those of us that also have iPhones."

"Video chat?"

"Yeah. Check it out. Tap the green camera button."

He does, and the list of his contacts appears. He chooses Tris, and then his face appears on the screen. He waits, confused. In the next second, Tris appears on his screen, grinning.

"I see you got your belated birthday gift," she says.

"This is crazy," he responds. "You guys didn't have to do this."

She smiles. "I love you. I wanted to do it for you."

"But..."

"Stop." He stops. "Now, repeat after me."

"Tris—"

"Thank you for my new cellphone."

He smiles. "Thank you for my new cellphone, Little Sparkler. You don't know what this means to me."

She bites her lip. "The only thing I don't like about FaceTime is that I can't actually kiss you."

He chuckles. "I will fix that later."

"Later, then." She winks at him, and then the line disconnects.

"Cool, huh?" Christina grins.

"What else does it do?"

"Well, here's the stores the phone uses to download songs and applications—you have to buy some of the stuff, of course, but it isn't too bad."

The phone vibrates in his hand, and he startles a little bit, until he sees a message appear at the top of the screen. At the end of it is a picture, and he squints so he can see.

"Tap on it."

He does, and the screen with the iTunes store disappears, to be replaced with a screen that holds a white talking bubble, and a picture. He taps the picture and it enlarges, and he smiles widely. Tris has taken a picture of herself blowing a kiss at him. Her hair is sort of wild and her hospital gown is slipping off one shoulder, and her eyes are gray and sultry. The message bubble reads, _how's this 4 now?_

"That would be the messaging that I was talking about. This stuff is pretty intuitive. You'll figure it out. I took the liberty of putting credits on your account—i put your password in your notes, but you can change it at your leisure—so that you can buy stuff you like. Have fun."

He smiles at Christina, hugging her tightly. "Thank you. Really... thank you. For everything."

Christina lets herself out, and then he turns back to the message. Typing on the tiny, touchscreen keyboard is a little bit tricky, but thankfully the phone knows what he wants to type—most of the time, anyway. _Very sexy, _he types, and then hits the send button. Moments later, a white bubble with three flashing dots appears, and then it is replaced by a message.

_My hosptial swag rules._

He laughs out loud. _I like this._

_Me too._

* * *

He found out that if he logs into his email on his phone, it saves his password and alerts him to new messages. He can also read his old ones. He can also include more than one email, and keep track of both of them.

He listens to new music, occasionally buying songs. He doesn't listen to hip hop—he hears enough of that at the bar where he works, and also, it reminds him of his past life in Dauntless too much. He won't subject himself to it more than necessary, although there are are one or two songs that he actually did buy because he liked the lyrics so much.

He texts Tris about this song or that one, or what she thinks about this band or that one, and she recommends an application that is free. _Youtube._ He's pretty sure he knows what that is, but he didn't know you could put that on your phone. Hmm. He downloads it, and then there is a world of music at his finger tips.

He found out about this thing called VIP, where he can mark certain people as high priority, so that he is alerted to their emails even if he turns off his alerts. He can do the same thing with the phone calls, through the Favotires list.

The more he messes around with the phone, the more he likes it. He gives his new number at work, and Christina shows him where to order a case and screen-protector for his phone so that it doesn't get damaged. After seeing the gruesome smartphone deaths on Google images, which make him cringe involuntarily, he quickly agrees to buy a fifty dollar case and a tempered glass screen cover. They arrive two weeks later, and he carefully applies his screen cover and places his phone securely in its case. Two minutes later, it slips from his hand, hitting the kitchen floor with a resounding smack. He cringes as he reaches down to pick it up.

It rings, and he sighs. "Christina?"

"Oh hey. You sound a little... stressed."

"Dropped my phone," he mutters.

"But you got a cover."

"Yeah but..."

"The cover I made you buywill save it. No worries. Just... keep it away from the garbage disposal, or anything wet...anyway, Tris called. She said she's being released from the hospital by the end of the week."

Tobias smiles. "That's great!"

"She is going to stay with me until she finds her own place."

"Right," he mutters, his smile fading. "I'll... help her, I guess. When I can."

"Of course. We all will. She'll be okay, you know."

"That's not what I'm worried about," he mumbles.

Christina sighs. "I'm staying out of that one. You guys need to do what's best for you."

"I know what's best for us... that doesn't mean I have to like it. And I don't like it! And she knows I don't like it, but I don't think she likes it either."

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry, really."

"It's fine," he mutters. "I'd better go. Got to work soon. I'll miss the bus."

"Have a good shift."

"Thanks."

* * *

During his shift, his phone dings—an email from his mother's brother.

_Dear Tobias,_

_I understand that you're a bit hesitant to drop everything and come out here to meet us, so... we've decided that we should join you for the holidays in Chicago instead. We'll make all the necessary arrangements, so don't worry about a thing. Let me know if you're agreeable. The kids would love to meet you._

_Sincerely,_

_James._

Oooh boy. He checks the pre-installed calandar on his phone, and he realizes that Christmas is only two and a half weeks away.

He has done most shopping for Christmas—thankfully his list was considerably short—but now it just got bigger, much bigger. He doesn't know James, or his kids, or... holy shit.

"You alright, handsome?"

He looks up at the customer, a girl with dark hair, although streaks of white and hot pink frame her face. She looks young. She smiles brightly, happily, but he knows the smile is jaded. He wonders if she has ID. "Yeah, I'm fine, thanks. What can I get for you?"

She sighs, sitting on a stool that someone just vacated. "Disaronno on the rocks, I guess."

"That's not very convincing," he tells her. "What's your name?"

"Marlene."

"Marlene, I will get you a Disaronno on the rocks, but you should be a little more convincing than that."

She sighs. "I'm not convinced about anything anymore."

"Why's that?"

She frowns. "Someone... I cared about, him, a lot... passed away a couple months back, and I just... I don't know what happens next."

He swallows. "I'm... sorry to hear that," he says. "That must have been very difficult."

"The thing is... he didn't just _die. _Uriah was murdered."

"Uriah?"

"Yeah, that was his name. He was a friend from painballing, and... I was in love with him, and I know that if I had said something, or asked him out, or anything, he would have said yes, but I just... I never got up the courage, and now..."

Four puts the drink in front of her stiffly. Uriah was Tris's friend, Christina's cousin. Uriah was _killed _because he wanted to be free.

And he did want to be free. As much as he talked about not wanting it, he lied. This was his job, and he was here serving this girl a drink because her love interest was murdered, and his own shot. He didn't want it that badly...

I'm sorry, he wants to say, but he just turns to the next customer.

"Hey... wait."

He turns back to her, to Marlene, waiting.

"I... just want you to know, I loved him as much as you love Tris. I would have done for him what she did for you. I'm not... angry. I just wanted to see that it was worth it."

He swallows. "Was it?" he whispers.

"Yeah," she says, a small smile pulling at her lips. "Yeah, it was."

* * *

"So... here it is, I guess."

Tris turns in a circle as she takes in the space. "You're... I, I don't..."

"This is your living room... there's the dining room and through there is the kitchen. Come this way." He leads her down the hallway. "Here's the master suite."

"Holy... did I buy this?"

He grins. "Well, your insurance said it would replace everything you lost, so when you asked Chris to go ahead with this apartment, they shelled for all the furniture. Some of it hasn't been delivered yet—the dining set and your art studio stuff will be delivered tomorrow."

"Wait, art studio stuff?"

"Yes," he says, smiling. "You know, this place has two floors. There's two bedrooms here, the master and the guest, and there is a loft space up the stairs that we figured was big enough for you to start your art things until you find a new studio space that you like." He shrugs. "I, uh... had to do some research, so... but I found out where I could buy an easel, a good quality one, and... you know... stuff."

"You didn't have to do that," she mumbles.

"I just want you to be happy."

She smiles. "I'm happy with you, you know."

He smiles too, kissing her forehead. "I'm glad, Little Sparkler."

* * *

She's been painting in the loft of her two-story apartment non-stop for the past three days. The paints that Tobias bought her are expensive oil paints, in every imaginable color. He also said, that since he didn't even know that you could use watercolor paint out of tubes, he had no clue if she preferred the kind that came in a little container or if she preferred the tube stuff, so he got her both. He wrapped them all in Christmas wrapping and gave them to her, along with two brand new sets of pens—the kind that use pigment AND the kind that use dye, he didn't know which she preferred.

"I guess, merry early Christmas," he had told her, and he seemed so nervous about the gifts that she'd kissed him soundly. When she opened the gifts, she stared at him, speechless. There were hundreds of dollars worth of mediums here—he'd only been working for a couple of months. _Where _did he get all of this?!

Now all she did was paint and sketch him, them, her friends... _Uriah._ She didn't know how deeply his loss would cut her. She couldn't even go to his funeral. But her art is drawing her away from her grief, and she realizes that Tobias had given her the gift of _remembering _him instead of just missing him.

Today, though, she has to stop. She hasn't seen Caleb in months. So, she rents a car with her credit card, since she still hasn't been compensated for her old one, and drives to the prison, carefully steadying herself in the car so that she doesn't make herself sore.

When she arrives, she leaves her purse and cellphone inside the car so as not to bother with having the stuff checked. She already will catch enough hell with the way she looks. She leaves her hair down to hide the hideous mark on her neck, and walks through security and into the visiting room.

"Tris!" Caleb jumps out of his seat and races over to her. "Aww... Bee," he mumbles, and it sounds like a whimper. "Jesus, sis."

"I'm okay," she says as he stares at her neck and her face.

"I wish I could hug you," he mumbles. "But I'd hurt you anyway, I can tell. How are you? Sit. Do you need help?"

She quirks an eyebrow. "Who are you and what'd you do with Caleb the asshole?"

He frowns. "I try not to be. Not to you, anyway."

"I know," she says, smiling. "I was just teasing you. Don't worry about me, okay? I'm alright. I'm doing physical therapy, I'm painting again... Tobias is working, he's doing really well. He bought me all new paints and pens for Christmas."

He smiles, and the expression is one of satisfaction. "I'm glad," he drawls.

"What's that mean?"

"Nothing," he says, but Tris doesn't believe him.

She rolls her eyes and moves on. "How are _you,_ Caleb?"

He shrugs. "Better now that you're here. You don't know how fucked up it is that nobody said shit to me about your condition for weeks. It was Four that showed up sometime after they moved you out of ICU and told me everything."

"Tobias comes here?"

He snorts. "The guy spent ten years of his life here. I think he'll avoid it if necessary. But, he said he plans to come see Rock and Gabe once in a while. I think he misses them."

"They were real friends to him, I think."

"They're not bad. For criminals anyway."

She laughs. "Neither are you, Caleb Anthony."

"Shut it, sis."

"Do you still talk to them?"

He nods. "Yeah. It's... things are easier with them." He swallows. "I don't know what kind of trouble you get into being indebted to a gangster, but I owe Rock more than I'll ever be able to repay."

"Rock's Dauntless too?"

"Yeah. He uh... is quite scary when he needs to be. Much like Four."

"Yeah well Four had to scare off dad l with his Dauntless face when I was in the hospital."

"Oh?"

"Dad didn't even bother to call until like a month after my surgery. And then he shows up, calling me _Beatrice _and _honey, _and acting all concerned. But he doesn't give a shit about me, and he never did. If he'd cared, he would have showed up at your trial, he would have been with me when I was in ICU." By the end of her speech, angry tears have stained her cheeks. "I think he knows about what happened between Four's parents."

"What?"

"You don't know anything about this, do you hear me?" she hisses. "Four's dad is Marcus Eaton, you know?"

"Yeah I know."

"Where's his mother?"

Caleb's eyes narrow. "Marcus Eaton, from what I saw in the file, has never been married."

"Evelyn Johnson. Runaway. Nobody missed her in this town, she came from out of state. Nobody knew her, nobody even noticed that he was with a much younger woman... that she wasn't even old enough to be in a relationship with somebody like him when that relationship started... nobody noticed what he did to them. And nobody noticed when she disappeared. But _Dad _knew everything about that guy. All he did when we saw him was sing Marcus Eaton's praises, remember?"

"You're right. You think Dad helped him cover up something shady?"

"Four says that his mother died on their living room floor, and that when he came home from school, she was gone. She died from a beating."

Caleb curses. "If there's anything I can do..."

"I know."

"Hey. If dad knew about this..."

"I know."

"We're not going to let him get away with hurting your boyfriend, okay? I like that guy for you."

She raises an eyebrow, smirking. "Do you?"

"He was better than that asshat you dated in highschool... Peter Hayes? That guy was a fucking psychopath. You don't know how many times I caught him trolling your facebook and hacking your email... he even tried to hack your phone once. So, I sent him a virus that shut him down for a while and sent screenshots of all the things he would write you to everybody he knew, with the caption, 'Peter Hayes is a stalker' including his employer and all his teachers and advisors at school and stuff."

"You didn't have to do that. And don't think I don't know what you did with that guy that planned to roofie me my sophomore year."

"He had it coming," Caleb says stiffly. "And so did that Hayes guy. Now, as I think of it, you know who was lucky I didn't ruin his whole life? That freak, Al."

"He was already unstable without you messing with him. And Peter was just a jerk, I didn't waste any more time on him than necessary, and you shouldn't have either."

"You should tell Four that story, so that he knows what's coming if he fucks this up."

"Be nice, Caleb. He won't hurt me. He loves me."

"He better."


	15. Chapter 14

"_Be nice, Caleb. He won't hurt me. He loves me."_

"_He better."_

* * *

She helped him decorate his apartment. He doesn't really recall a time when his family had such thing as a Christmas tree, or bowls of chocolates lying around, but now his living room has a small tree and decorative lights hanging around, and bowls of red and green wrapped Hershey's kisses, mini kit-kat bars, and tiny silver Milky Way bars, and other candies, on his coffee table and in the hall, on the table in the entry where he always leaves his keys, and in his room because she swears his bed is a thousand times more comfortable than hers. He pops one of the sweet treats in his mouth as he walks to the door, hoping that chewing his food properly will keep him from grinding his teeth with tension.

She sits comfortably on his couch, wearing a brown sweater dress and warm, brown tights, and ballet flats that are comfortable. She is curled up with his red afghan, reading, a magazine, but she is smiling happily at him. "They're your family," she reminds him. "They will love you."

He draws a breath and opens the door.

"Tobias? Wow, look at you, you look..." James stares at him for a long moment, before throwing his arms around the younger man in a fierce hug.

Four stiffens, unsure, but returns the hug eventually.

"You look just like her," James finally says, and Four clears his throat to keep it from clogging.

"Thank you," he whispers. "Uh—come in, come in. I uh... realize it's sort of small, but—"

"Don't worry about it, son. This is my wife Zoey, my sons Hector and Bobby, and my baby girl Kelly." He greets them all as they are introduced, and they step inside.

"This is..." Four frowns as he struggles to find an appropriate word. "This is... my Tris," he finally says.

She beams at him and kisses his cheek lightly before greeting everyone. She sits down right after, and Four watches her, concerned. "Lots of hugging," she mutters. "Two broken ribs."

"Oh." Those ribs will bother her for a long time. It's been just over three months, and she still favors that side heavily. "Do you need a pain killer?"

She shakes her head.

"Everything alright?" James asks.

She nods, smiling a little bit. "It's been a rough few months. He gets worried."

"I'm sorry to hear that, dear," says Zoey kindly. "Do you mind if I ask what happened?"

Tris looks at Tobias, and he stiffens. She takes his hand, and he looks down at her.

"Tell them," she says.

He swallows. "She... um, there was an investigation about me, like I told you... and she got involved, and they went after her to keep me from talking—and they beat her up and they shot her... a lot... and she's still recovering, and I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Four," Tris whispers. "It's over, you know. We're okay."

He puts his head in his hands. "Fine, okay? Fine. After I ran away from my father, I joined a gang, alright? It is called Dauntless. And someone in the gang got jealous of me... so they killed my girlfriend and framed me. I spent the last ten years of my life a convicted murderer, and Tris is the only one that bothered to notice that I didn't belong there, so they tried to kill her so I wouldn't get out. He kidnapped her and murdered her friend, and then he shot her three times."

James and Zoey stare at him, speechless. "You... were in convicted of _murder_?" Zoey asks incredulously.

"You were in jail? What's that like?" asks Hector curiously.

"Hector!" chides James.

"It's not somewhere you want to be," Four answers flatly, ignoring his uncle.

"Tobias?"

He looks over at the little girl, trying not to frown in confusion.

"I'm sorry you got put in jail," she says quietly. "I'm glad you're better now."

"I, uh... thank you," he stammers, surprised.

"You're not going back, are you?"

"Not if I can help it," he snorts, and Tris giggles.

She stands and moves toward him, wrapping him in a tight embrace. "Good."

* * *

Kelly sat by Tobias the rest of the night, eventually falling asleep curled into his side, with his arm comfortably around her. After the painfully awkward conversation, there was an equally painfully awkward silence, which Tris finally broke by clearing her throat and muttering, "and then we lived happily ever after..."

James had laughed, clapping Tobias on the shoulder. "You've got yourself a keeper then, son."

"So I do," he'd murmured, pressing his lips to her temple as his hand tangled into her hair.

She'd grinned and kissed him sweetly, and then turned to Zoey. "So, how did you guys meet?"

Zoey launched into a hilarious explanation having to do with grocery shopping and peanut butter, and the moment was dispelled. The rest of the night Tobias spent with one arm around Tris and the other around Kelly, who had inadvertently attached herself to him the rest of dinner, much to his confusion. Her eyes had sparkled when he presented her with her gift, which much to her glee, was a collectible Barbie doll and a soft, purple sweater with a 'monsters high' character embroidered on the front.

They leave for their hotel around midnight, and Tris yawns, smiling. "Do I need to say _I told you so _or is it a given?"

He places his hands on her waist, promptly cutting off her next teasing remark. She swallows as he presses her close to him. "Are you going to keep talking," he teases, "or are you going to let me kiss you?"

* * *

"Hey, kid," Tobias says with a grunt as his little cousin, Kelly, squeals and launches herself at him. He smiles at her and ruffles her hair. She goes to launch herself at Tris, but he stops her. "Waaiiit. Be gentle, she's still sore."

"Oh. Sorry," Kelly answers sheepishly.

"It's alright, sweetie," Tris answers with a smile. "Did you enjoy your Christmas presents?"

She nods and launches into a description of all her gifts, bouncing in excitement as Tris pulls her coat tighter around her.

"You okay, Little Sparkler?"

"It's too cold," she mutters. "It makes my ribs hurt."

"Okay," he says quietly. "We'll head to my place..."

She shakes her head. "No, please don't ruin your time with your family."

"Tris—"

"You're the most important person to me. If you need to leave, I'll take you home. End of discussion."

She sighs. "I'll be okay. I promise."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Will you send me a message when you get there?"

She smiles. "I will text you something sexy once I'm... well, you'll just have to see."

"Sounds good," he says with a grin. "Tease."

"You love me that way," she gloats.

"Yes I do," he murmurs, framing her face in his hands and kissing her lips.

She turns and walks to the rental car.

"Take care of yourself," he calls after her, and she smiles.

Driving back, she is smiling, even though she has her arm tightly pressed to her side. She has to park a little ways away from Tobias's apartment building, but she doesn't mind the walk. She is too happy that he is connecting with the people on his mother's side of the family.

If it didn't jar her ribs, she would skip to the door. That and, the street is crowded a little bit. She moves carefully, but someone slams into her head on, sending her crashing to the ground. White hot pain tears through her side, and all she can do is groan.

"Beatrice—I didn't see you, I..."

"What are you doing here?" She whimpers, recognizing the voice as her father's.

"I want to talk to you about—"

"I don't want—don't touch me," she snaps, batting his hand away and squeezing her eyes shut against tears of pain. "I don't want to talk to you," she grunts, pushing herself painfully to her feet. She stumbles toward the door of the building, and he trails behind her.

"Beatrice, wait."

"Leave me alone," she moans, walking as fast as she can.

"Beatrice! You can't bring down Marcus. I won't let you."

She whirls around, her eyes flashing white-hot lightning. "Yeah and why's that? Because you don't plan to go to prison? Did you help him get rid of Evelyn's body? Was it you he called when he _murdered _his child's _mother? _Huh? Is it you that he called when his son was bleeding too much from his beatings that he couldn't possibly leave him without a doctor? I've seen the scars on his back."

"That boy is a liar and a criminal, and I won't allow you to continue dating him."

"You don't have to _allow_ me to do _anything_. You don't own me, and you sure as hell don't give a shit about me. You can't stop him anymore, and don't bother hiding the truth because it _will _come out. You've cleaned so much of Marcus's shit that you're the first person they're going to come sniff around because even twenty years later, you still _stink_!" She storms to the building and up the stairs to Tobias's apartment. She moves toward the medicine cabinet immediately and takes out a pain-killer. Then she curls up on his bed and falls fast asleep.

* * *

"Hey," a gentle voice brings her out of a deep sleep. "Tris? You awake?"

"I am now," she grumbles, and he kisses her hair.

"Sorry, baby. I was worried. You didn't message or call."

"Sorry," she whispers. "I saw my dad, and he was being an asshole, and he totally ran into me on purpose so that I would have to listen to him, and it hurt, so I came and took that stuff the doctor gave me and went straight to bed."

He frowns. "I'm going to talk to Christina about that, okay? Do you need anything else? Tea? Are you still in pain? Do you want to eat?"

"Okay, and no, and no, and no, and no. But thank you." She grins sleepily at him, closing her eyes.

"Okay," he chuckles. "Rest well. I love you."

"You too," she whispers, already half asleep.

In the morning she's rumpled and hungry, and she pours herself a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee with squinty eyes and a grumpy expression.

He watches her, trying to suppress his smile. She's clearly not really a morning person, and it's adorable.

Christina _is _a morning person though, and when he called her at eight in the morning to tell her that Tris's father, Marcus's publicist, showed up and hurt her, she chirps brightly that she'll be over in half hour and bring donuts.

At eight-thirty and five seconds, the doorbell rings, and then Christina walks purposefully into the apartment. "Oh, girl," she says disapprovingly. "You're in your man's apartment wearing _that? _You know I'd be walking around in the skimpiest thing I could find."

"I wouldn't mind that at all," Tobias interjects, one finger raised.

"It's too early, Christina. Besides, Tobias seems more like the type that enjoys it when his girl purposefully forgets to bring night clothes..."

It is then that he notices that her shirt is really _his _shirt. He clears his throat and tries not to stare, but it doesn't work. She's wearing his tee-shirt. And she's right. He is enjoying the fuck out of the view. Hmm.

They're both laughing, probably at his expression, and then he pours himself and Christina coffee. "Okay, you two, enough giggling. Let's talk. What the fuck is Prior's problem? How do we keep him away from us?"

"I've notified the US Attorney and they are doing what they need to on their end. I will be pushing through restraining orders on both your dad and yours," she says, pointing at each of them. "They can't be withing five hundred feet of your apartments, your work, or anywhere else outside of, like, court. They also can't contact you or send people to talk to you. If that happens you call the police. Outside of that, all we can do is pray this shitstorm doesn't get worse. Oh, I have other news."

"What's that?"

"The Feds are interested, _very _interested, in Caleb. It seems they think he is too intelligent and talented to be wasting away in a prison cell. I, of course, agreed. And, since he's demonstrated his willingness to help in police matters, they are willing to negotiate a deal with the state."

"What kind of deal?"

"They've moved up his next parole hearing. Instead of five years, it will be two. And, when he gets out, he'll be paroled directly to the federal government. Have you ever seen the show _White Collar_?"

"Yeah—it's about this guy who's a fraud, but he helps them investigate... oh." Tris grins. "So he's going to be working for the FBI or something?"

"Actually, they'll be paying him to test security systems for the FBI and DEA... since he's been known to hack into government systems before. He'll be allowed to play his tricks on the feds as long as he writes about it after, that's what it comes down to. That and, naturally, he'll be helping trace any _real _attacks on the systems."

Four frowns. "That seems a bit ironic, don't you think?"

"It does. But you know, I'm not going to question it. As long as we can get him out sooner. His behavior in the prison has been good, he's been cooperative with police, he's not going to try and bail because he's got you guys. He never had drinking problems or problems with weapons or anything like that, so they've agreed to be pretty lenient on him in exchange for his... _services._ Not a bad deal, eh?"

"I call that a lucky break," Four mutters.

"Yeah me too." She smiles at Tris. "I'm working as hard as I can to make sure this goes smoothly. Tomorrow I'll put in for those restraining orders. Oh! In other _other _news, Will's finally done with the _whole _investiagtion—about you, I mean, Four. He says that the other two Dauntless leaders have been arrested and charged with RICO crimes. Dauntless is falling apart. They've tried to put up new leaders, but it isn't the same. He says they're killing each other to be leaders, or getting arrested. Some have testified and been put in witness protection until trial, others chose to leave town on their own."

Four's eyes widen. "Holy shit."

"Yeah. We did it. We brought down Dauntless. And boy is it going down... like the damn Hindenburg: in flames, and in public."

"Yikes."

Tris breathes a sigh of relief. "See? Now it's really over. You can rest easy."

He smiles at her, kissing the side of her head. "Happy new year," he says into her hair.

"Happy new year, Tobias."

* * *

Things are fairly normal. He has to work tonight, which is Christmas Eve, so James, Bobby, Zoey, Christina and Will, Fernando and his wife, and Tris will be joining him at some point. He really just wants to make out with Tris at midnight. He checks his watch constantly.

_Gloss _is busy, but being the lounge type of atmosphere that it is, it doesn't get crowded and loud like most clubs and bars do. He's grateful, because anywhere else, he'd have a migraine the size of Lake Michigan.

He pours drinks and coolly lets down girls that are _too friendly,_ and makes small talk like bartenders do, but he's watching the door. He will know the second she—

"What's a girl got to do around here to get a beer?"

"Tris!" He smiles so brightly that the man to her right smiles a little, too. "What can I grab for you, baby?"

"A pitcher of whatever beer on tap—you choose. Chris wants an appletini, and... hey, what the fuck is a Tahitian tingle?"

He laughs. "Fernando's wife?"

"Yeah."

"Zoey?"

"She's having beer for now. You'll join us for shots?"

"Soon as I can get a break, baby."

"Okay. See you soon?"

"I'll send someone over with your stuff," he smiles.

His mood has improved considerably since Tris arrived about two minutes ago.

The man that was next to her grins. "That's your lady, is she?"

He nods, refilling the man's scotch. "Yeah."

"She's a special one, isn't she?"

"You have no idea."

"You're very lucky, then."

Four grins. "You have no idea," he repeats.

"I met my Lucy my last year of high school. The most gorgeous, special person I'd ever met in my life. I followed her, you know, to college. She wanted to be a teacher, and I wanted to be with her. So I studied—business and whatever else. Kept my grades up so she wouldn't think I was stupid. Asked her to marry me four times before she said yes. That was forty-three years ago."

"Congratulations," Four says.

"Yeah well. She struggled with cancer for a long time before she passed away. But I'm fortunate to have met her and loved her."

Four swallows. "I'm... sorry to hear that."

"Now, don't look so terrified. Just cause it happened to me, doesn't mean it'll happen to you. Just remember, for one, to never take her for granted, and always live every moment with her like it will be the last moment you have together. Treat her with respect and sincerity, and she'll stick around, even when you're a pain in the ass. Two, remember that she isn't _yours _to lose. Not really. Souls that beautiful belong to God, and he gives them to us to care for as He sees fit. When she's gone, you keep telling yourself that was an honor to be with her."

He swallows again. "I hate thinking about that stuff," he says honestly.

"Yeah, so did I. But then it happened, and now it's all I think about. It's eleven fifty. You better find that girl if you plan on meeting her at midnight."

He looks down at his watch. "Thank you," he says sincerely. Then he punches his break as David relieves him, and he goes to the low table with cushioned seats, where Tris is chatting animatedly with Zoey and Christina.

He stares at her neck. Recently, she's taken to covering it with scarves or turtlenecks, even when they're inside. At first she blamed the cold, but he knows it isn't only the cold. She hates that scar.

_You keep telling yourself that it was an honor to be with her. _He doesn't have to wait till she's dead to tell himself that. He knows. He'll remind himself if anyone gets under the impression that he's forgotten. He's glad she's sitting in the corner, because when his arms trap her in her seat she can lean comfortably.

"What are you doing?" she asks him curiously.

He unwraps the scarf from her neck with gentle fingers, and she stares, sort of alarmed. "Tobias..."

He puts the scarf aside and presses his lips to the side of her neck, over the scar. "You're beautiful," he says into her skin. "Don't hide."

She mumbles a half-hearted protest, but her fingers find their way into his hair. "We're in public, you know," she whispers.

"So?"

"You work here," she giggles, gasping a little.

"I won't tell if you don't."

"Behave!"

"Okay. But... keep that off. Okay?"

She studies his eyes, dark blue and intense, and shining in the low, comfortable light, the one spot in his right iris slightly lighter than the rest. "Why?" she asks, her voice cracking.

"Because I can't hide what you did for me. I live it everyday. And I don't want you to hide it either. Somebody told me that if I ever lose you I should tell myself that I was honored to love you. But I don't want to wait till one of us is dead for that. I already know that you're the best thing that ever happened to me, and a stupid little scar isn't going to change that, and I don't want you to hide it either." He kisses the scar again, smirking against her skin. "Now can I kiss you or do we have to miss the countdown?"

She laughs and pulls him up to meet his lips.


	16. Chapter 15

_He kisses the scar again, smirking against her skin. "Now can I kiss you or do we have to miss the countdown?"_

_She laughs and pulls him up to meet his lips._

* * *

"Hey gurl."

Tris looks around, confused. "Oh... you're talking to me."

"Yeah, boo! You' the finest woman in the room."

"Thanks, I guess." This is getting very awkward.

"I'd like to take you out, gurl. Show you a good time." The position of his eyebrows suggests that the only place he's thinking of taking her is back to his place.

"Sorry, but I have a boyfriend."

He shrugs, giving her a smile that she supposes is meant to be charming. "That don't really bother me."

"It bothers _me,_" says a flat, dangerous-sounding voice. Tris tries and fails to suppress a smirk as Tobias places her sangria on the bar in front of her and folds his arms over his chest, summoning his most deadly expression.

"Who is you, bro? You needa step off, can't you see I'm talking to this sweet thang here?"

"That's my boyfriend," Tris says sweetly, taking a sip of her drink. "He's not impressed by guys that encourage me to cheat on him."

"Right," he mutters. "Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Beautiful."

"Likewise I'm sure," she mutters sarcastically.

Four frowns at him as he leaves, and the set of his jaw suggests that he's still considering taking the douchebag out back.

"Four," she says, getting his attention. "Hey you," she says with a smile. "Forget about him, he was an ass. Not worth losing your job over."

He shrugs, and turns to his tickets, preparing more drinks. "Thanks for keeping me company tonight," he mumbles. "I'm glad you're here."

"Of course. I'm going to be drunk as fuck though, so don't taste too much of that."

He grins. "Copy that. Section three, table two, two frozen margaritas and a double scotch."

The waiter quickly retrieves the ticket he just called and he moves on to the next one. She bites her lip as she watches him. His movements are sure and efficient, with none wasted. He's wearing his usual attire. Dark jeans and a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the top button open. He swallows as he works, and his throat bobs a little, and she swallows too. There's that magnetism again...

"I can feel you looking at me," he mumbles as he places a drink on the bar for the person on her right. "I could always feel it, ever since the first time I caught you staring at me."

Heat floods through her and she's sure her cheeks are red.

"I like the way you look at me," he says. "I don't feel weak when I'm with you."

* * *

She's hungover the next day. He gives her water and Gatorade and aspirin, and he kisses her and lets her sleep. At noon, he buys her lunch, and she's grumpy as she eats. He kisses her hair and rubs her arm, and she grumbles but she leans into him. He lowers the blinds and pulls the curtains so that her eyes don't hurt After lunch, she sleeps on the couch.

It is snowing outside. He went outside earlier, and the snow swirled about him in thick gusts, sticking to his eyelashes and eyebrows, and on his coat, and landing on his lips, allowing him to taste them. All around him, white piled around the sidewalks and spilled into the street. He walked for a long time, looking at the city in the winter white and gray. She would love to paint this.

In the prison yard there wasn't ever much snow. Even if it was snowing, the snow never stuck to the ground. It only left wet, grayish-brown, sometimes-slushy puddles on the uneven cement ground. Still, when he could have a cigarette or two, which was more often than most people simply because he was Dauntless, he'd smoke them outside in the freezing cold.

When he came back, wanted to kiss her, _a lot_, but she was still asleep, so he focused instead on finishing balancing his budget and paying his bills, which is what he's doing when he finally hears her stir. He made himself a promise to not screw up after he got out of prison. So he carefully manages every penny, paying his bills on time and saving up for the future... for _their _future, but he keeps that last part in his hat.

Tris looks up and smiles at him... he's on the computer, and she can see that he's concentrating on managing his bills.

"Hey," she mumbles.

He looks over at her right away. "Hey, you," he says with a smile. "Feel better?"

"Yeah," she says, stretching a little bit. "Come sit with me."

"Let me finish this, okay?"

"Hurry," she whispers.

"Of course."

When he's done, they curl up on the couch; he browses through a book of cocktail recipes while she leans sleepily against him.

The irony of it makes her chuckle, and he grins at her. "What?"

"Planning on making me be hungover again?"

He leans forward a little bit to reach her lips. "Planning on making you hang on for dear life," he says against her mouth with a devious grin. "That what you said?"

She turns beet red, but she doesn't protest to his lips or his hands. She doesn't protest when he leads her to the dining room table and gently pushes her against it until she's sitting.

"It's been a long time since I stood with you like this," he says, his hands caressing the skin of her thighs. "I miss it. And," he adds deviously, "and I miss the things we did on the table."

She gulps, and he smirks.

* * *

"Yes! I've got you, motherfucker." Christina smirks as she hangs up the phone and browses through her email. Her next contact is the US Attorney's office. "Hey—is this Christina Arenas. I need to speak with... oh! I just found out from my PI. I 'm forwarding you evidence in the case against Marcus Eaton. And I think once you see it, you'll want to add Andrew Prior to the docket."

* * *

The US Attorney sits across from Andrew Prior, hands folded on the table of the interview room. "I don't think you understand me, Mr. Prior. _I have you on camera driving the car that Marcus Eaton used to dispose of the body."_

"What body? You don't have one in your morgue. All you have is the word of an ex-convict and grainy pictures of some guy that looks like me."

The prosecutor, a woman with a severe haircut and equally severe features, places the picture in front of him. It is from a security camera. There is a man in the car, which is facing the camera, with his same hair and facial features, albeit grainy, and another man inside the car, in the passanger's side. In the next picture, the passenger is putting something quite large inside the trunk of the car. "I believe that's called accessory to homicide, after the fact."

Andrew says nothing and scowls at his nails.

"Marcus Eaton is going down for murder," she hisses. "Whether or not you do too depends on what you tell me next."

"Okay," Andrew says. "I want my _lawyer _now. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like a guilty man," the prosecutor answers. She slams the door shut behind her.

* * *

"You okay?"

Tris nods, closing her eyes again. Wave after wave of nausea crashes through her, causing a riptide of misery as waves of pain sweep through her too. She stays curled on her side on the couch, and he squats in front of her, concern drawing his eyebrows together. "You aren't okay," he says, frowning. "You've had a fever since last night."

"Is that why I feel so shitty?" she whimpers.

"Could be the flu or something," he says. "I'm going to take you to the ER, okay?"

She shakes her head, but groans when her stomach convulses.

"Come on, Little Sparkler," he says gently. "I'm going to help you sit up and get your coat on, and then we're leaving. Where does it hurt?"

"I don't know," she cries. "My stomach. My back? I don't know. Everywhere. Please, make it stop."

"Let's get you to the emergency room then, okay? Count of three. One, two, three." He hauls her into a sitting position, but she is too weak with pain to maintain it. Her back is slick with sweat, making her tee shirt soaked. "Jesus," he mutters, pulling out his cell phone. "Hi... Will? I need a favor, are you busy?"

"Working," he says. "What is it?"

"Can you take a break? I need help."

"What's up?"

"I need to take Tris to the ER."

"She okay?" he asks immediately. "I'm on my way. Tell her I'm coming."

"She might just have a flu or something. She's had a fever, lots of pain. Weird pain. God, she's in so much pain," he mutters, panic edging into his tone. "You have to help me."

"I'm coming, okay? I'm coming with my on duty car, it will be faster. Hang in there, okay?" he hangs up, and Four puts his phone in his pocket.

He helps her into her coat and then carries her down the stairs to wait for Will. He pulls up a minute later, and Four carefully maneuvers her into the back seat before running around to the other side and jumping into the car next to her. Will turns on his siren and slams on the gas.

The emergency room isn't full, but he knows when he takes her ID and insurance card to the front desk that it will be a long time before someone sees her.

She's trembling in her seat, her teeth chattering. He pulls her into his lap and rubs her back, to soothe her. He can't really do much else, and he's afraid. Will he watch her die here?

She moans lowly as nausea forces bile into her throat, but she doesn't throw up. Someone calls her name after a long time, and she stands, but sways, her legs giving way beneath her. He carries her to the chair where they draw blood, take her vital signs, and start her on a IV of just liquid, to make sure she stays hydrated. Four carries her again and places her gently on the stretcher before sitting next to her. The time on the clock above her head reads eleven oh-five pm.

The night turns into morning, and she's been treated for pain and taken for various scans, and nothing seems to come up. They give her antibiotics for the fever, stating that she clearly has an infection _somewhere,_ and that they need to treat it to bring her fever down.

It is around four in the morning when he notices that she is sleeping comfortably. He frowns, scrubbing his eyes. Did they give her a pain killer? What the fuck? Not an hour ago she was crying because of the pain.

He pages the nurse, who looks alarmed and pages the doctor. The doctor pages someone else, and then returns to the room, frantically tripping over words like surgery and severe infection, and who knows what else.

"Wait, wait, wait, stop. Stop! I don't understand what's going on," he says. "Tris's gunshot wounds have been healed since December. How can she still have an infection?"

"Oh, this isn't related to her injuries. This is what I needed her blood-work back to diagnose, and I'm afraid she's progressed too quickly. We're going to treat Tris for appendicitis, which is a type of infection in a specific part of the large intestine known as the appendix. I'm afraid her appendix has ruptured, and we have to remove it immediately, or else the infection can spread, and she can die."

He gulps. She's going to die? Oh God, please no. Not again...

"Listen to me. She will be alright. I don't have time to confirm the suspicion with the lab tests, but that doesn't matter now. If I don't get her into surgery, her condition will worsen."

Now he's _really _going to lose her. Fuck.

"She'll be alright," the doctor says gently. "I'll take care of her."

It takes them only ten minutes to prepare everything and cart her off to surgery, and he finds himself pacing in the same waiting room that he waited in when they said they found an abscess in her gunshot wound.

He sips the bitter coffee and paces until the surgeon calls her name. He explains that they did get all the infection out, but that the appendix had, in fact, ruptured, and that the doctor's quick thinking saved her life. She'd recover and be sent home in a few of days with antibiotics to take for the next couple of weeks to make sure there is no lingering infection.

He sleeps in her room, but his sleep is interrupted by dreams of another girl that cried in pain and fear, years ago. Sometimes her face is Tris's face, and he jerks awake, searching out her hand to calm himself.

She wakes up around one in the afternoon, groggy. "Oohai," she whispers, and he can tell the painkiller is having an effect on her again. "Wash'doin'?"

"Waiting for you to wake up, Little Sparkler. How do you feel?"

"Sleepy," she says with a yawn, even though she's more awake. "But sore. Why am I sore?"

"You got really sick, baby," he says softly. "You had appendicitis."

She frowns. "Oh. Did they... take it out?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." She sighs. "You must be tired of this."

He frowns. "Of what?"

"Me having surgery. Being in the hospital."

He raises an eyebrow. "_Scarring. _Yeah, no. I'm perfectly fine, thank you kindly."

She stares at her hands. "I wasn't ever... _pretty..._ you know?"

"Bullshit," he says.

"I wasn't. In middle school and high school, when I started caring about... _boys..._ boys didn't really pay much attention to me."

"Boys in middle and high school are also known for being stupid. Really, _really _stupid."

She breathes a laugh. "Yeah, yeah they are."

"You're the most beautiful and sexy girl ever. Scars included."

"Okay," she says with a smile.

* * *

She's mostly back to normal after a couple of weeks. She is still sore, but she goes back to work anyway. He sort of hates this schedule, but it can't be helped. Her day job is a nine to five, and since she takes the bus, it's more like seven to six, so he only ever sees her in the morning. He works four to midnight most nights, and she's always asleep when he's home.

Living apart has sort of become null and void, since they always spend their time at his place. She goes home on the weekends to paint, and so he usually ends up there for the two or three days in between. He sort of wants to put this out of its misery and move into hers, but at this rate, he'd never see her anyway.

It's the weekend, so she's upstairs in her loft, painting away (wearing only his shirt, she was too sore to put on pants), and he's flipping channels on her couch. She was pretty stiff this morning, and he got to rub her back, much to his delight. He also got to make her breakfast and watch her eat it, tiny-eyed and wild-haired, with one sleeve slipping off her shoulder and bare feet.

God, he wanted this forever. He _had _to convince her to move in. Or marry him. Or maybe both, definitely both. Of course both. They wouldn't be _married _and not live together... right? That would kill him.

"Houston paging Four, do you copy? Yoohoo!"

"Huh? Oh... sorry." He snaps to attention, and then he remembers that she wasn't wearing pants. His eyes roam her legs, and he can practically hear the flush rise in her cheeks.

"See something you like?" she mumbles.

"Fuck yes," he mutters. "Come here, baby."

His hands are on her skin as soon as he's within range, and he pulls her down and gently makes her comfortable before leaning over her. Her feet, her calves, her thighs... fuck. He prays she isn't wearing a bra under her—his—shirt as his hands caress her stomach, pushing higher until it's off her body. He tosses it on the ground and molds his mouth to hers, touching her everywhere. His hand gently brushes her newest wound. "Okay?" he whispers. She nods, and he smiles when she sighs against him. She tugs at his shirt and he pulls it over his head, throwing it somewhere near hers, he assumes.

He can't get enough of her. He's touched her like this before, plenty of times. He remembers the first time, when he was still in prison. He tells himself he's going to make her sound just like that again.

And he does. A lot.

* * *

When she wakes up, she realizes a couple things. First, sleeping naked feels very, _very _awesome. She might take it up, if for nothing except to make him crazy. He hasn't stopped touching her since they made love for the first time last night. The sensations and the emotions were just as overwhelming as the first time he'd ever touched her. He was so gentle she wanted to cry, but still so... intense... for lack of a better word, that he didn't let her think about that long enough before his hands and his lips were teasing somewhere else she didn't know was a turn-on.

His arm tightens around her when she shifts, and she comes to her second realization. _He really doesn't want to live without me. _She wants to kiss him, but he's holding her tightly, her back pressed to his chest and his... _evidence _of his_ great, great dreams..._ poking her buttcheek. She shifts again, and he tightens his arm around her. "Don't go," he says into her neck. "Stay, you feel good."

"Yes, yes I do," she answers him.

"You've got a smart mouth in the morning, don't you, Little Sparkler?"

"I always have a smart mouth," she sasses back.

He pulls gently on her hip until she's laying on her back. "I know just how to keep it quiet," he says, raising an eyebrow. Then he pauses, pretending to be thoughtful. "Actually, no," he says distantly, before returning his gaze to hers. it is devious now. "I think we will put that smart mouth and beautiful voice of yours to better use."

* * *

She's late for work, and Tori raises an eyebrow at her. "You look... late."

She mumbles an apology and slips her USB into the port of the desktop, waiting for it to bring up her files while she puts away her coat.

"Feeling better?" she asks with a smirk.

"Much, thanks," comes the rushed answer.

Tori crosses her arms. "Next time you're late because you can't quit having sex, just do me a favor, and don't make it so obvious. Some of us aren't getting any, you know."

Tris flushes bright red and opens up the file she's been waiting for. "I finished the project."

"Uh... that's not for until next week."

"Yeah I know."

"Feeling sort of inspired these days?"

She grins. "I get... lots of inspiration these days."

"Lucky," Tori mutters.

"I get that too."

"Shut it!"

Tris smirks. "That's for teasing me earlier," she says. "I'm sending you what I've finished. I finished the thing for Wednesday, and I finished the design for the webpage that was for next week, and I also started on some ideas for the billboard PSA project—you know, the one that organization sent us. They sent their logo and colors and everything so I figured we should get started on that."

"You're... quite ahead of things aren't you?"

"Well, I have a presentation coming up, and I need to focus on that."

"Yeah about that..."

Tris looks up, wary.

"The organization has... _withdrawn..._ their request." Tori sighs. "I did the best I could for you on this, but they wouldn't budge. They said that since their campaign is against domestic violence, they don't think it would look good if someone worked on it that aided Marcus Eaton's _private escapades."_

"What?" The word is flat, lifeless.

"Look, I don't know, okay? They said they couldn't believe that our company would hire someone with recommendations from 'a partaker in Mr. Eaton's disgrace to our nation' or whatever it is that he said. I was just as blown away as you, you know? But the project is 86ed. And the bosses aren't happy about it."

"But I didn't do..."

"I know."

She glares at her desk. "I _love _Tobias. I'm the one that _encouraged _him to press charges. I... I'm not a partaker in any damn thing! How could they do this to me?!"

"I don't know," Tori says quietly. "I'm sorry."

Tris growls, taking her things and shutting her computer down. "I'm working from home today," she says angrily.

When she gets home, she slams the door, causing Four to jump out of his skin. "Tris! Hey, I... uh oh. What happened, Little Sparkler?" he takes a look at her expression and shifts on the couch so that she can sit with him. He wraps her in his embrace, kissing her hair gently. "What is it, baby?"

"They canceled my project because it's for a domestic violence campaign, and my dad and Marcus _both _wrote me recommendations for my job, so..."

He raises both eyebrows. "I thought your dad didn't want you to work there."

"He didn't. Caleb made him write it for me—you know. Before he went to jail." She wants to scream with frustration. "I didn't do anything wrong! And now, and I quote, _the bosses aren't happy, _end quote. What the fuck?! How was I supposed to know my dad was the type of asshole that could cover up something like that?! And why does that mean that I'm covering it up too?! I'm_ against him _for fuck sakes."

"I'm so sorry, baby," he says quietly. He grits his teeth. "I shouldn't have dragged you into my shit."

"What? No!"

"Oh please, Tris, don't tell me this would have happened if—"

"If my dad didn't work for a child-abusing murderer? Because really that has nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with all the ways _my _father has screwed me and Caleb over." She huffs. "Get over yourself, Four."

His jaw drops for a second, and then he glares.

She raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms defiantly. Her hip just slightly to the left as she shifts her weight. She only does that when she's mad at him. "Yeah, you heard me. Not everything is about you. This thing at work, it has _nothing to do with you. _So quit throwing your own pity party, I'm not coming."

He throws his hands up in the air, frustrated. "What'd you want me to think? It was _my father _that did all those things that Prior had to cover up. It's _my _life he fucked up." He crosses his arms. "Or did you forget that?"

She deflates, moving toward the couch and sitting next to him pulling his arms apart and pulling them around her. "I didn't forget," she mumbles into his chest. "I'm sorry. Don't be mad."

He sighs, taking her face gently in his hands. He pecks her forehead once, twice. "I love you, you know." His thumb brushes across her cheek, and the touch is like a whisper.

"I know," she says quietly. "I love you too."

* * *

He watches her work the rest of the day, instead of scanning through boring television channels. He really needs something to do when she's not around...

She shows him how her design program works on the computer, and how she's able to draw things on a strange sketch pad with a fake pen, a _stylus,_ she calls it, and the drawing appears in her computer, ready to use. She carefully creates graphics and even cartoons for commercials and ads that will be all over Chicago by the end of the week. He is looking forward to seeing the finished works around.

When he's going to get ready for work, she stands with him. "Where are you going?" she asks, and her tone makes him gulp.

"To, uh... to the, uh... shower..."

"Oh. Hmm." She taps her chin as she contemplates him, her eyes speculative and sort of devious. "Do you think the bus will be late today?"

He groans as she reaches for him, pulling her shirt over her head. "God I hope so."

* * *

**so there it is. Sorry this chapter took so long. I hope it's good enough to make up for the time I've been gone. I'm back now and I hope it's easier to keep updating every day or two.**

**And yeah. That uh... guy hits on girl without regards to her relationship status thing... was based on personal experience. And I was sort of blown away by that. So, now it's in my story.**

**See yall soon!**

**~temporary insanity**


	17. Chapter 16

"_Do you think the bus will be late today?"_

_He groans as she reaches for him, pulling his shirt over his head. "God I hope so."_

* * *

"Well, Andrew lawyered up. The press is on to the case, so I'm working on what to say to them so they aren't all over you, but please beware that this is going to be on the national six o'clock tonight. Things are going to get really, _really _crazy."

"Yeah... thanks, Christina." Tris hangs up the phone and sighs, leaning against Four, who is browsing through a catalog of degrees and courses for a community college nearby. "So, any ideas of what you want to do yet?"

"I really like what I do now. I was thinking along the lines of something culinary—or business—I don't know."

"Ah. Planning on slinging drinks forever, are you?"

"I make great money doing it, so... you know. I'm sort of optimistic, I think. Maybe someday I can open up my own bar or restaurant."

Tris smiles brightly at him. "Maybe someday you can. You keep thinking and dreaming as big as you can, okay?"

He kisses her temple. "Okay." He smiles. "I'll name it Bee's Bar and Grill."

She glares at him, biting her lip to keep from laughing. "No you won't!"

"I will. I definitely will." He laughs when she finally does, happily hugging her closely. "We're coming up on eight months together," he says quietly. "Almost ten months since I caught you staring at me."

She chuckles. "Caleb thought that you were going to kill him because you caught me staring."

He snorts. "Caleb wasn't even on my radar back then. Not until you, anyway. And then it was in my best interest to keep him alive, so... he was never in any danger. Not from me, anyway."

"He told me, and I quote, 'quit staring at him so I don't die tonight.'"

"Well I happen to like when you look at me. So he needn't have worried." He studies her. "You know what I think?" I think I've been out of jail since October, and you still haven't gotten a new car, and that makes me curious."

She frowns. "I can't just... _replace..._ what that car meant to me."

He heaves a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I know. I'm sorry. I just... have a ton of money coming in now, with the settlement and all that, and I just thought maybe I'd help you find something nice, something you'll like. Oh and also, Christina told me that Erudite Pharmaceuticals is willing to settle with me as well... you know, since their scientist was bat shit crazy and murdered a ton of people for a gang. They don't really want that getting out, so... I'm meeting with them and Christina on Thursday. They'll... pay me for my silence or whatever, and I'll make sure it isn't fucking cheap. Janine ruined my life and tried to kill you. You should sue too, actually."

She sighs. "No, I'm good. I'm... ready to just forget about her existence, and Eric's. I just... want to be happy with you already. You know?"

"I know." He frowns. "Christina said that part of the damages I'm being paid is psychological, and therefore I'm entitled to therapy, on the state's dime."

"You should do it."

"I don't... _need _therapy. I'm just... ready to move on, like you. I don't want to rehash my years in jail or repressed memories and sexual desires, and sit on a couch being asked how I feel all the time—"

"That isn't what therapy is like at all." She chuckles. "Try it. It can't hurt to try."

"You know what would be good therapy for me? Buying you a car. Let's go car shopping this weekend. You've got to move around, baby, this bus thing is killing you, and I know you hate the cold."

"Well it's not going to be cold much longer... I hope."

"Tris." He raises an eyebrow. "The insurance paid you the value of your car. I'm going to help you with the rest—I want to do that for you. We're going to get you a car, and it will be a vicious, sexy-ass car that you're going to fall in love with, and you're going to drive it anywhere you wanna go, and no more buses or rentals or bullshit. Hell, even Smarty Pants wants you to get a new car."

"Fine, okay? Fine. I will go look at cars with you this weekend. And you know what else? Maybe you should take your license test, too. I know you've had your ID and permit since before I got out of the hospital—why don't _you_ have a car, hmm?"

"You first," he says with a grin, but she knows the conversation is over.

"I love you, you know."

"And I, you."

"I want another mustang. With a glass roof."

He smiles. "Okay, baby."

"But I don't want it to be light blue like the last one. It needs to be darker blue. In fact, I'll show you just how I want it. Follow me."

* * *

Tris bites her lip shyly, and he watches the white of her teeth sink into her red-stained lip, swallowing hard. Her hair is swept back, but pieces of it fall about her face and neck, behind her ear...

Her eyes are shadowed with dark, smoky liner and shadow, making the blue of them sparkle in the city lights.

Her dress is tight and black with bright pink flowers printed in bold clusters on her left side and over her right shoulder, spilling on to her back. She's wearing the most fantastic pair of boots known to man, and they make her legs go on for days. She wears a black wool coat, and her scarf, a pink one that matches with her dress. He raises an eyebrow at it, but she snuggles into it and then loops her arm through his, leaning on his shoulder.

"You look beautiful tonight," he says after a long time. "You're... a work of art. Like... Monet or some shit."

She laughs. "Monet or some shit, huh?"

He shrugs, but his cheeks are light red. "I guess I sort of ruined that."

She kisses his cheek. "I sort of like that you're comparing me to the priceless art from a famous artist. But... I'm a bit more animate than a Monet."

He looks at her suggestively. "So you are," he says with a smirk.

"Happy Valentine's day," she says with a smile.

"Happy Valentine's day, Baby."

When they reach the restaurant, studies the drink menu carefully. Tris watches him, waiting. He wants to buy her wine tonight, and he's curious what he'll choose.

He spouts off a name to the waiter, who smiles and says he'll bring a bottle. They order their appetizer and Tris smiles at him excitedly.

He smiles back. "Thank you," he says sincerely. "This is the first time I have a legitimate Valentine. Like, ever. And I'm not in jail for it either."

She tilts her head. "What about...?"

His smile turns sad, and the storm clouds in his eyes seem to shadow his whole face. "Lynn... was popular on Valentine's Day."

"Oh." Her eyebrows crumple just a little bit. "I'm sorry."

He shrugs. "She's gone now. I've moved on. I... I cared about her. But I can't hold on to her forever. I'd rather hold on to you."

Her teeth scrape her lip again, and he reaches for it with his thumb. "I'm going to need those later," he says roughly. "Don't abuse them."

She chuckles. "I abuse my lips, do I?"

"Well you keep biting them. And in this cold, that can only be classified as abuse."

"You're sort of nuts, do you know that?"

"You like me that way," he says with a wink.

She laughs, a light, tiny giggle that makes him smile widely.

They talk through their appetizers and their first glass of wine, which makes her hum appreciatively.

"So have you decided on what you want to do for school?"

He sighs. "Well—in the spirit of being optimistic, I applied to CHIC."

"You did? That's one of the best schools in the city."

"I know. They, uh... I haven't heard anything yet, but I'm still applying places." He shrugs. "I'm not sure I'll get in."

She smiles brightly at him, reaching across the table to lace her fingers with his. "Optimism," she says.

He squeezes her hand gently, raising his glass with the other hand. "To optimism."

* * *

"Wait... what?"

A raised eyebrow. "Are you not agreeable?"

"I never said I wasn't."

Christina looks at him. "This is a good deal, Four."

He releases a shaky breath. "Okay. But the deal is, I don't have to talk to you people, or about you, to anybody, unless it's a police matter."

"That's correct."

He takes the pen and signs where he's indicated.

The drive home is silent. He tries to process the idea that he's officially a _millionaire_ and that he won't have to work a day in his life if he doesn't want to...

But he wants to, and he will. He's wasting away in his apartment. The boredom is killing him. Maybe he should just put all the money in a trust and forget about it.

"Hey, you."

"You're... here."

"Yeah. Decided to work from home today, since you had your big meeting. How'd it go? Want to talk about it?"

"Sixty million."

"What?" she asks flatly.

"It was a settlement of the damages lawsuit—but they wanted to include a non-disclosure thing, so..."

"Whoa," she breathes.

"I know," he says, biting his lip. "We can... buy a house."

"You want us to buy a house?"

"I want it all with you," he says in response. "We can buy a house, a big house where you can have your art studio. And we can buy you a car like the one you built on that mustang website. And any other car you want. And it can have an extra room or two for our friends to stay over."

"Or for... kids? You know. In the future."

He gulps. "Kids, huh?"

"Yeah. I... thought you said you wanted it all with me."

"I do, but..." He sighs. "Tris... I can't have kids. I don't... want kids. Not right now, anyway. Maybe someday I will. I just... I don't want to be, or you know... end up like—"

"Like your father? A wife-beating, child-abusing asshole?" She stands, planting her fists on her hips as her ire swells in her. "Well, so far you haven't been abusive or controlling to me. I have no reason to believe you'd be that way to our children."

"You have no reason to believe that I wouldn't be, either."

"Other than you being the most wonderful, supporting man I've ever met? Because let me tell you, I've done controlling and abusive before, so I know what that looks like. That asshole is lucky his balls are still intact," she growls. "Very, _very _lucky."

He stares at her. "What are you talking about?"

She sighs, plopping back down on the couch. "I... remember that I told you, that back in middle school and high school, I wasn't exactly the pretty one?"

"And I still think that's complete bullshit. You're crazy beautiful."

"Thank you," she says, biting her lip shyly. "Well... when someone finally took notice of me, I was... _happy. _I really just wanted to make him happy. So, when he asked me to change the way I dress, I did. When he asked me to... uh..." her cheeks flame. "I did it. It was scary. He liked seeing me choke, making me cry. But I did it anyway, because I thought that if I didn't, he'd wouldn't love me. When he started... moving past what we normally did, he, um... well, it was painful. And he liked it. When I cried, I mean. My first time. But I didn't say anything, not even when he purposely made me cry the second time. I thought that if I kept my mouth shut, he wouldn't leave me.

"Well," she growls, "he left me anyway. Or rather, I caught him with some girl in my suitemate's room, during my freshman year of college. When I yelled at him, he had the nerve to slap me across the face. That was when I woke up, you know? I was an idiot, letting him make me feel like shit, like I didn't _deserve _for him to be with me, or love me, or stay with me. I can be with whoever the fuck I want, and dress however the fuck I want, and I didn't need that sadistic asshole telling me what to do and enjoying it when I was hurt. And I told him to leave, and return my key. And he did. And I packed his shit out of my room and I threw it the fuck out, and I told him to lose my number. Do you know what he said to me? After three years of me being with him, he said to me, 'you were nothing anyway.'

"Does that sound like something you would do? Or say to me? Would you cheat on me because I'm not a masochist?"

He swallows. "Who... was that fucker?" he growls.

She shrugs. "He's irrelevant. What I want you to know is that I know you aren't like him, or else I wouldn't have insisted on being with you in spite all of your attempts not to be." She gives him a sideways smile. "You would be able to discuss this issue in therapy, you know. With somebody that knows more than me."

"I don't need therapy," he says flatly.

"Whatever. Look, don't let your asshole father ruin your life anymore. I certainly won't be doing that with mine."

* * *

"Are you... are you kidding me?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Prior. You'll have to get your things out by closing tomorrow."

She stares between them in disbelief. They are Tori's bosses, and she's standing behind them stiffly, her face completely blank.

Tris swallows. "But... I did nothing wrong..."

"Your recommendations clearly state that you have worked with these people before, and they are drawing too much negative attention to our marketing firm. You are costing us business, Miss Prior. So, I'm afraid that we don't have a choice."

She stands and walks toward the door. When she reaches it, she turns. "I... that man, Marcus Eaton's son... Tobias. He's my boyfriend. I love him, and I would never have tried to cover up what was done to him and his mother. That you think so lowly of me, even though I've been your best worker for years... it makes me think that maybe I don't want to work here anyway. I'm going to marry Tobias someday. He wants me to marry him. I want to marry him. I'm in love with him. I've seen the scars on his back, the blankness in his eyes after a nightmare. That you think I could hurt him is... preposterous. One day you'll see. And you'll wish that you hadn't fired me."

She cries all the way home. When she opens the door, just as Tobias is leaving, actually, she slips past him, trying not to let him see her tears.

He sees them anyway. "Tris? Baby, what the hell happened? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she says blankly, her voice flat and numb. "We'll... talk about it when you get home. Okay?"

She sits in the dark until he gets home, and he immediately wraps her in his arms. "You're still up," he whispers. "What happened, Little Sparkler? Is it Caleb? Is he alright?"

"He's okay," she sniffs. "I lost my job."

"What?"

She nods. "Um... apparently, the project they canceled on account of my father was the least of my worries. I was their best designer, but they didn't even bother to get _my _side of the story. They just... fired me." She clenches her jaw, and more tears pour down her cheeks. "I worked there six years—I was their best, Tobias. I _made _myself be their best. Because they... they were important. It was important to me to build a reputation there. I did everything I could, with integrity and discipline. I needed them to see... why didn't they see?"

"I wish I knew, baby. I'm sorry."

"I have bills to pay..."

"Don't worry about that for now. Let's just... shower. A hot, relaxing shower, the two of us, hmm? And then we'll go to bed and sleep, and tomorrow we'll think about bills. Okay?"

"Okay."

"I love you, Tris. It's going to be okay. Everything is going to be just fine."

* * *

"He did it on purpose," Caleb says immediately. His green eyes are snapping dangerously.

"You don't know that."

"I _so _know that. I'm the genius here. I'm also the one that practically held him ad gunpoint to write the damn letter. You bet your ass he let them think in one way or another that you were in on it. He did it on purpose."

"Be nice," she says flatly.

"What'd I do? Look, all I'm saying is that maybe Christina should have a chat with him in which she politely tells him to fuck off."

"She did that already, and there are restraining orders."

"A piece of paper that says 'you can't be here' is actually going to keep him away from you? Right. It's a matter of time before he's offering you a position with him. He's going to try and split you and Four up, because it will help Marcus's case to discredit you and him, both. It's in his best interest for you to lose your job because of Marcus's recommendation. How'd Four take it?"

"Easily enough, I guess. He's been really supportive. And now he has all this money coming in... he said he'd help me with my car. You know. And maybe get one for himself, after he passes his license test."

"Well get ready. He's coming for you. Both of you."

"Great," she mutters sarcastically.


	18. Chapter 17

"_Get ready. He's coming for you. Both of you."_

"_Great," she mutters sarcastically._

* * *

"He's right, though—mm."

"I don't want to talk about Caleb anymore," she says against his lips, coyly.

"You're going to break me, woman," he mutters in response, but he lays back anyway, enjoying her lips and her hands on his bare skin. He has no clue what's going on, but he really isn't going to complain. For the past several of days, she's been interested in one thing.

It has actually been a month or so since that conversation between Tris and Caleb, but they've revisited it more than once, considering the barrage of press ambushes, news articles, and court appearances they've had to endure since. In the last court appearance, Marcus tried to bring up his time in Dauntless as a reason he should be discredited as a witness. It made his blood boil.

He found out another reason Tris was avoiding buying the mustang of her dreams. She misses her car doctor, as she lovingly referred to him. She only ever trusted Uriah with her car, and since he's dead, she really can't bear the thought of someone else dealing with her vehicle—or, more specifically—replacing him. She took him to Uriah's shop, and he swallowed as he stood on the sidewalk in front of the empty lot, empty windows, closed doors and garage entrances. _Pedrad Custom Auto Mechanics _reads the name on the store front. He swallows, remembering talking to Rock—Zeke—and Caleb.

"_Hey, man! How's life on the outside?"_

_Rock grinned in his happy way. He imagined that Uriah had that same infectious glee. Tris told him countless stories in her grief. Most of them started with two sentences, the first of which was usually ludicrous, and the second of which was always 'Hilarity ensued.' _

"_Four? Hey, man. You alright?"_

_He put his head in his hands, and the first thing that made its permissionless way out of his mouth was "I'm sorry."_

"_Sorry for what?"_

"_I... look, I know you guys have noticed that you haven't had any visitors."_

_Caleb's eyes widened. "Where is she? Where is Tris? Is she... _dead_? Oh fuck..."_

_Rock just watched him, the cheer fleeing his face._

"_Tris is... hurt. I... fuck." He blinks his emotion away, tugging sharply at his hair. "You know Tris is friends with your cousin, my new lawyer."_

"_Christina. No, I didn't know that." Rock frowns. "I mean, Uri talks about her all the time. He calls her Short Stuff, or Sis, or something along those lines. But I didn't know she knew Christina."_

"_Well she asked Christina to be my lawyer, that's how I got out of jail."_

"_Okay..."_

_He pulls at his hair again. "God, I... I'm sorry."_

"_For what, damn it?!"_

"_Tris got kidnapped by the Dauntless—Eric, to be more precise. In the process of... _taking _her... he killed Uriah," he barely whispered._

_Rock stared in disbelief, but tears were already falling from his eyes. "No," he croaked. "No—no. You're... you're lying. This is a joke. A sick, fucking joke, Four!"_

"_Eric cut his throat," he whispered, his own tears knotting his throat. _

"_I wish I could kill that fucker," he hisses, but the his broke off with a cut off sob._

"_Me too. But he's dead anyway. Will killed him."_

"_Will Shannon? Chris's boyfriend from the Gang Task Force?"_

"_Yeah."_

_He sighed, and more tears fell from his eyes. Then he looked up. "How'd you know he was my brother?"_

"_Christina. She said that her older cousin... _Zeke,_ which is a perfectly acceptable name, by the way—"_

"_Fuck you, Tobias," he said in response, causing Caleb to breathe a chuckle._

"_Anyway, she said that your mother didn't want you to know anything. Which confused the fuck out of me, because I didn't know why you'd need to know that Uriah's..." He swallowed. "Yeah. So. There's that."_

_He shook his head numbly, trying to dispel the daze of grief. "My brother..."_

"_I'm sorry," Four whispered again._

_Rock got up and left the visitation room, his shoulders slumped._

_Caleb sighed, scrubbing his eye with the heel of his hand. "Where's Bee? Is she okay?"_

"_She... recorded the whole thing on her phone, including the confession that got me out of jail."_

_Caleb nodded. "She has her moments, doesn't she?"_

"_But Eric—uh, tried to rape her. She fought him and escaped and... he shot her. In the side, and in a lung, and in her neck. That's when Will shot him."_

_His lip trembled. "Jesus," he whimpered. "_Please_ tell me she's okay."_

"_She's recovering," he says softly. "She's... taking her rehab stuff really seriously, and she's taking care of herself. err—I don't know when she's getting out of the hospital, though. I imagine soon, since she's doing so well. She was, uh..." he clears his throat. "The bullet cut the artery in her neck. She almost bled to death. And the bullet in her side caused a lot of damage, and for a while she couldn't even eat properly, but... she's getting there."_

_Caleb groaned, covering his face with his hands._

_Four stared at the door, the door where he stood the first time he saw Tris. "Rock... help him, will you?"_

"_Of course," Caleb answered. "As long as he wants."_

"_Thank you."_

"Hey. Tobias... where'd you go?"

He swallowed, meeting her eyes. They are extraordinary eyes, really. In the morning light, they shift and glimmer, like the sun glinting off the small waves of the deep sea. His hand skims her bare side and over her ribs, gently tracing the scars in her back. He traces his way back down, his hand tracing the curve of her ass.

She quirks an eyebrow.

"I was thinking about Rock," he says quietly. "Zeke, I mean. He asked me not to call him by his 'Dauntless' name. Caleb too. He's..."

Her face falls.

"Don't be sad," he whispers. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to kill the mood."

She smiles a little bit, lowering her lips to his again. "Uri would want me to be happy," she says after a long time. "I'm... going to try. To honor him, I will try."

"That's the spirit."

"Optimism," she says with a small smile.

"That's right," he says. "Up you go, Miss Optimism. I have to shower for work."

She pouts, but then she watches him lasciviously. "Mind if I join?"

"You're insatiable," he says with a quirk of his eyebrow, but he kisses her anyway, carrying her into the bathroom with him.

* * *

She frowns as she looks at herself in the mirror. Tobias has gone to work, and she has made plans for an evening of laser tag. Laser tag is just as fun as paintball, if not more—only it is inside, and therefore _not _cold. She slips into her combat boots, making sure her hoodie fully covers the black, 3-quarter sleeve crop top that she has paired with her dark, mid-waist, extra skinny jeans.

She's going to make him go with them sometime. His _Dauntless_ness could come in handy.

Still, she frowns. Her bra is uncomfortable against her sore breasts. She is not comfortable at all, actually. She even _looks_ uncomfortable as she studies herself in the mirror. She carefully braids her hair over her shoulder, purposefully styling the braid so that it would conceal the scar there. Then she puts on her black hat, pulling it low over her ears. She grabs her coat and keys, making sure she locks up carefully. She rubs the collection of scars on her side—there are several since she has had two surgeries and a bullet hole in less than six months. They still feel uncomfortable from time to time, but she knows they are all completely healed.

She steps outside, and the chaos that erupts stuns her. The flashing is so bright, that it bounces in her skull and makes her think she's being continuously struck by lightning. There are questions being hurled at her, causing her head to spin. She tries to run back inside, but the reporters are all giving chase. One of them reaches her and pulls the door shut before she can protest. They are around her, and on top of her somehow, and then there is pain in her head and a distinct sensation in her stomach, like she is falling. Her back scrapes against cement steps, and blinding colors mix with the blinding camera lightning as her head hits the step on her way down. She catches the tail end of one of the questions—something to do with sex and Marcus, and her blood boils. "Get the fuck away from me, all of you," she growls. She pulls her hat off as she pushes herself to a sitting position. She presses her hand to her head, and it comes away slick and hot—blood.

She feels nauseous. She probably has a concussion.

Someone shouts, and she realizes that that person is Will. The press people scatter, leaving her dazed on the sidewalk.

"Oh my God! Are you okay, Tris?" She glares, but she's too dizzy to make it effective. "I thought you said you were waiting at the door..."

"Sorry, sweetie. I was, but I ran back because I thought I locked my key in the car."

"Idiot."

"No need to get snippy. Come on, I can see you and I will have to take a trip to the ER."

* * *

She was right about the concussion. There are stitches in her scalp and hairline, a total of eight. Her cheek is bruised. Her pride is wounded, her mood bitter, and her temper very, _very _short.

Tobias is mad enough to chew chew bullets and spit bombs. He does spit bombs, actually. The F-bomb in particular. He is still in his work clothes—a hunter green shirt, with the top button undone and no tie, the sleeves rolled up a quarter of the way, revealing the tattoo that honors his mother and the beginning of his tribal sleeve. He's wearing very dark pants and comfortable, but dressy-looking shoes. _God he is so sexy. _

"I can feel you looking at me," he says, turning to face her with a loving smile pulling at his lips. The darkness in his eyes is momentarily lustful before it turns concerned.

"I'm going to be alright," she tells him.

"I know," he says, and his brooding pacing continues again. "I just can't believe they mobbed you like that. Those assholes will pay, all of them."

"They know where you live now."

"Yeah... I bet I can tell you who did that," he says sourly.

"What do we do?"

He sits down, finally, his cobalt colored eyes thoughtful. "We could move in together. In your apartment."

"What?" She asks.

"Please," he says quietly. "I love you, and you love me, and we spend all of our down time at home together anyway. And we can't stay at my place anymore. Let's move into yours. Or get a new one. A secure one... like a townhouse or condo that's somewhere gated or something."

"Tobias—"

"A sprained ankle, various stitches, a damn concussion. Bruises on your face. I refuse to stay there another second where they can mob you and hurt you whenever they want. I'm moving out, period. But... I really, _really _want to be with you. Please... just think about it, okay?"

"Okay," she says after a long time.

"Okay what?"

"I'll move in with you."

"Really?"

"Really. I love you and... and this feels right."

"It does, doesn't it?" He's biting his lip hard to contain his excitement, but he's sure it shows on his face anyway.

"I can't wait."

"Good," he says smiling brightly, his excitement causing her to smile too. His eyebrows draw together afterward as his eyes catalog her body, studying her. Then he quirks an eyebrow. "Hey, is it just me, or did your boobs get bigger?"

She gapes at him for a moment, then frowns. "So that's why they're so sore."

"They hurt? Who knew that boobs _growing _could actually hurt?"

"I... might have an answer to that," says the attending physician, slipping past the curtain of the emergency room. "As you know we do blood tests to count out infections or other diseases, as well as a complete blood count—"

"Get to the point, Doc," Tobias says, not unkindly.

"Well, the blood tests indicate, Miss Prior, that you're about six weeks pregnant."

Silence.

Tobias stares at the doctor blankly, as if he hadn't heard.

Tris's chest constricts. Tobias doesn't _want _children. He will leave her. She can't raise a baby on her own—not without a job and now with all this madness going on... this will be the end of her and Tobias. She is sure of it.

Or she could...

_No she can't. _She won't. If he leaves her now, he didn't deserve her to begin with—

"Will you please tell me what's going on in that head of yours?" Tobias's quiet, pleading voice breaks through her panicked thoughts.

"Don't leave me," she says, and her voice sounds smaller than she wanted it to.

He frowns. "Why would I do that?" he asks flatly.

She stares at her hands. "I'm sorry," she begs in a whisper. "I don't know how this could have happened. I... I'm on birth control, I—we've been safe, I... I don't know, I don't know. I'm sorry. Please, don't leave me."

"What the fuck?" He asks, sounding almost angry. "I'm not leaving you!"

"But you said you don't want babies."

"I..." he sighs, tugging sharply at his hair. "I... fuck. I love you, okay? I can't make you _not _have a baby—_our _baby. I would never do that to you, no matter how... how scared I am."

"Scared of what?"

"You know of what."

"I still think that's bullshit," she says, frowning. "If you were like him, you would have done perfectly well in Dauntless, fearless and sadistic gangbanger extraordinaire. Or do I need to remind you that _you _told _me _that you were starting to hate that life? You aren't like them, and you aren't like your... that asshole that gave the sperm that made you. We've discussed this."

"Right," he mumbles, nodding. "I... think I'll have to see that to believe it."

"I've seen it," she says softly.

"I love you," he answers.

* * *

They've moved all of his things successfully into her apartment and he sighs in contentment, pulling her down with him on the couch. His hand finds her stomach, and he rubs it, smiling.

Tomorrow she's going to have her first appointment with the OBGYN. "Are you nervous?" he asks.

"About... the baby? I mean... yeah. Yes, and no. I don't know. Right now, I'm happy."

"Me too," he says. His hand moves from her stomach to her waist, and she bites her lip as his find the shell of her ear.

"We should wait to tell the others," she says, her voice catching more than once as his lips deviously explore her skin.

He pulls away to look at her. "Really? Why?"

"Err—till the end of three months, the first trimester. You know, in case... in case something bad happens with the baby."

He swallows hard at that, but then he looks thoughtful. "I... it would kill me if something bad were to happen to you or our baby. I... would want them to know."

She looks at him questioningly.

"I mean, they are your friends—our friends... they risked everything for me, for _us,_ and I would think that they would want to share in our grief if..."

She studies her hands. "You're probably right. Maybe I just... want to keep this to myself for a while. I mean, once the press finds out..."

"Yeah that's true. I still can't believe they did that to you! How's your foot?"

"Okay," she says, smiling. He gently removes the velcro straps on her brace and massages her foot and ankle, making her sigh in pleasure.

"We should tell them anyway. At least Christina and Will and Fernando. They will need to know, for your safety if nothing else."

"That's true. And Caleb. He'd want to know, he's my brother. He'd keep his mouth shut."

"Of course he would. I can still get him killed in his sleep," Four says darkly, "and he knows it."

She flings an arm at his chest. "Four!"

"Sorry."

"You can't kill my brother. Not even if I want you to."

"Okay."

"And believe me, I'll want you to."

He chuckles.

"We'll tell our friends and family. But we have to tell them to stay shut."

"You're right. That's what we'll do."

* * *

Christina's shriek makes Four blind—or deaf, or a strange combination of both—and she launches herself at Tris, making the shorter girl grunt.

"Careful," he hisses.

"Sorry!"

Tris grins. "It's alright. I'm fine."

"And I'm excited. Eeeeeeeek!"

He puts his index finger in his ear, wincing.

Tris grimaces too. "Err—you're going to make me deaf."

"Sorry!"

Will grins and claps him on the back. "Congratulations," he says sincerely.

"Thanks."

"So when did this happen?" Christina asks, her eyebrows climbing.

"I don't know," Tris says, frowning. "I mean, I know I missed a few days on my pill but—"

"I thought you were on the shot."

"Switched. After the... shooting... I just didn't want needles, so..."

"Understandable," Tobias mutters, rubbing her arm.

"When did you miss days on your pill?"

"Err, when I was in the hospital, for the appendicitis."

"Oh," Christina says, her face lighting up in understanding. "Did they give you antibiotics?"

"Yeah, and some to take at home too."

"Well on top of missing some days, antibiotics sometimes mess with the way the pill works. So that's my bet."

Tris frowns. "I should have known that."

Four rubs her arm again. "Hey, it's okay. We're happy about this, right?"

She smiles thankfully at him. "Right," she whispers.

"I love you," he says, mesmerized by the flecks of blue and gray in her eyes.

"I love you too," she says, biting her lip. Her expression makes him gulp.

"Alright, love birds. Since we can't drink now that Tris is—"

"Wait," Will sputters. _"I _can drink. _I _am _not_ pregnant."

"I hope not," Four mutters, and Tris breaks into giggles.

"Well Tris is, and we aren't just going to get wasted and leave her all by her bored, sober self. So, since we can't drink, we're going to eat cake."

"I have no objection to that," Four says, his finger raised in the air.

Everyone laughs, and Tris presses her lips to his cheek.

He's definitely happy.

* * *

"Are you serious?"

Tris nods, smiling.

"This is... _awesome! _I'm gonna be an uncle!" Caleb whoops while she laughs. "This hurricane rocks, baby sister! Do you know if it's a boy or girl? Wait, no, you wouldn't know that until like, five or six months in, right?"

"Something like that."

"I want to know, okay?"

"Of course. And you'll get to meet your new niece or nephew as soon as we're able."

Caleb smiles at her, but his eyes are watery. "I'm so happy for you," he says. "But I don't want him or her to meet me in here. I... don't think I can handle that."

Her face falls.

"Don't be sad, baby sister. Chris said she got my parole hearing moved up so I can work with the feds. I'll be out of here in no time at all." He brushes a tear from her cheek. "I'm sorry, Sissy," he says quietly.

"I know," she says with a sniff.

He remembers his elocution, and the tears she shed there.

"_I just wanted my sister to be happy. You know, she's not as smart as me. And our parents—well, it isn't like they were around. They were too busy being stupid rich people to pay attention to either of us. She got the short end of the whole deal. So when I realized how much money I could come into by hacking, I knew I would give most of it to her. I got her all kinds of stuff. And I liked that she'd smile and laugh and hug me after. I know I'm... not fun to be around... most days, but she always sticks to me like glue. I don't want her to ever feel bad or uncared for. So I took care of her._

"_When my dad cut her off—that jerk, he should have been here to help her with her art, not following around some other rich guy—I was the one that stepped up and paid for her apartment and school and whatever else. I got her all new art supplies for all her classes, and for her own stuff, you know? I helped her find the studio she bought, and I helped her save up money so she could be on her own. She's _my _sister after all. I love taking care of her. _

_I know it was... not fair... to steal all of those people's money. I knew I could get caught—it wasn't likely, most people aren't as smart as me—but I knew it could happen and I did it anyway. But I'd do it a thousand times if it means that my sister gets to be happy, instead of like this." He looked over at her, her clear, blue-gray eyes clouded and full of tears, like a storm at sea._

"_I'm sorry," he whispered to her. "I love you, Bee."_

"Caleb."

"Huh? Oh... sorry."

"Visitation is ending. I have to go. I... I'll be back soon, you know? Hey, how is Rock?"

He gives a sad smile. "Okay. Considerably less cheerful, but he's hanging in."

She swallows, looking away. "A brother's death is a pretty good reason to be 'considerably less cheerful' or whatever you said."

He frowns. "Don't worry about me, Tris. I'm hanging in too."

"Okay," she says with a nod. "I love you," she whispers.

"I love you too."

* * *

Her skin is still slightly sticky from sweat, even though it is so smooth he always wants to touch it and kiss it. She is tucked into him, her head on his chest and hey eyes closed as she listens to his heartbeat slowly return to normal.

"Four?" Her voice is a whisper.

"Mm," he hums in response.

"Do you think this will ever go away?"

"What's that, Little Sparkler?"

"This... feeling."

He smiles. "No. I don't think it will."

"Promise me," she whispers.

"I promise," he says as he falls into slumber.

Some time later, he jerks awake with a gasp to find her concerned eyes, dark gray in the moon light. "You okay? You were having a nightmare."

"Yes," he mumbles, sitting up. He wipes at his face, and his hand comes away wet.

"Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Want me to distract you?" she whispers, her finger trailing between his pecks.

He lays back. "Yes."

"It was just a dream, you know," she says, her eyes concerned again.

"I know," he says. "You're still here. It was just a dream."

"I will always be here," she says gently.

"Get to distracting, woman," he teases.

She grins as he pulls the sheets over them.

* * *

**yeah yeah, I know. Lots of FourTris fluff. But we like FourTris fluff, and I am a generous host. But shit's about to get real, though, so... hold on to your pants. Unless Four's around, cause really, why would you want to keep your pants around that guy?**

**Just kidding xP Thanks for your patience, folks. More chapters soon. Oh, and PS: if you're interested in knowing what it was that Four was dreaming about that made him cry, I'm going to be writing an outtake for this story. it will be a short story, prolly like four or five chapters, i don't know yet, and you should read that when it comes out.**

**kthxbai  
-temporary insanity**


	19. Chapter 18

"_Get to distracting, woman," he teases, as his smile turns into a playful smirk._

_She grins as he pulls the sheets over them._

* * *

Motion after motion and hearing after hearing. There have been a hundred million of those, or so it seems, between then and now... Four supposes that was just Marcus stalling, delaying facing his crime. Today is the last hearing before the trial—a motion to suppress somebody's testimony. The motion was bogus, and was quickly thrown out. Everyone scheduled to testify will testify. Any evidence stemming from the testimony in question won't be suppressed. The trial will begin one week from today.

He stands and helps Tris stand... he is hasty and tense. His father's arrest was very public, but he was released under his own reconnaissance or whatever, so he will walk out of here just as freely as they will. He wants to avoid that man at all costs.

Tris squeezes his hand, offering him that tiny, unsatisfying smile. She is only fourteen weeks along, but her body is already starting to change. Her hips are just a little bit wider, accentuating the curve of her waist, and her boobs, as he noted earlier, are growing. She glares at him when he stares at them... apparently, they are still tender. But the second he can get his hands on those bad boys...

"Four!" She raises an eyebrow and he shrugs. Staring at her is what got him here in the first place... right. Better get going.

She kisses his cheek, and he responds by trapping her chin in his hand and pressing his lips to hers. He wonders if he'll ever have enough of her. If he will, he doesn't want that day to come. He pulls her closer, sighing in relief when her body is flush against his. She's always just what he needs.

"You ungrateful bastard," someone hisses dangerously.

Four stiffens, but doesn't turn. His grip on her waist is protective now, and his other hand is ready to push her away if he tries to harm her. "We should go," he says quietly, and Tris nods. Her expression is somewhere between apprehension and hatred.

"You can't seriously think I'd _let _you walk away from me. You _listen to me,_ you little guttersnipe—"

"Mr. Eaton, such an honor," comes Christina's voice, venomous sarcasm dripping from her tone. "I don't believe you'd violate the terms of your... conditional freedom... by harrassing my client and going against the restraining order," she says, the false sweetness in her tone still coated with sardonic acid. "Would you?"

Tris glares from Four's arms too, but he is too stiff with anger and fear to move.

"Yeah, I thought so. Buh-bye, asshole."

Marcus stares between the three of them for a moment, and then turns to Christina, a charming smile on his face. "You are an excellent lawyer, Miss Arenas. I would hate to see you ruin your career by going after a member of Congress over a false accusation." With that, he turns and leaves, his posse and the cameras following him.

"Quick, now that everyone's paying attention to him, we can slip out without noticing."

Four takes Tris's hand, and they bolt out of the courthouse.

* * *

"I can't believe the nerve of that _animal_," Tris growls, pacing. She looks like she'd tear into his throat with her teeth.

Christina watches her, and so does Will. "Will you calm down? You being so wound up is bad for the baby."

She ignores them, still pacing furiously. When she turns, she slams headlong into something... warm. Solid and warm, with arms. Arms that wrap around her and hands that gently rub her back.

"Easy, Little Sparkler," he says lowly into her ear.

She glares up at him. "I refuse to stand there and let you take his insults that way. And my name is Tris."

He shrugs. "I have had to take far worse from him. His snippy words are about as impressive as a yappy chihuahua as an attack dog."

Tris lets out a frustrated sound. "You shouldn't have had to take _anything _from him."

"Easy, Little Sparkler," he repeats. He doesn't sound... _amused_... not really. But his voice is calmer than she expected, happier than she thought. And she knows that his amusement is there, even though she can't hear it in his voice. When he calls her that, he's amused by her temper. Always.

"And I can't believe you're not irked by him."

"Somebody famous told me not to let him ruin my life anymore. So I'm not."

She glances up at him, and the expression on his face finally makes her deflate.

He breathes the chuckle he's been holding in since she started pacing. "I love you too," he says quietly. "Thank you."

"You two make me want to throw up."

"Not yet, but soon if you don't get out," Four says deviously.

"Right, bye," Will says quickly. He's gone before Christina can get words out of her mouth.

"Oooookay then," she says. "Will and Fer will work out security for you. Don't let anybody in, practice safe sex, yada yada... later."

Tris gapes at her retreating form, but then turns to Four, who immediately attaches his lips to hers. "You know, we should quit avoiding this topic by having sex," she says when they finally stop for air.

He simply moves his lips from the corner of her mouth, across her jaw, toward her neck.

"Tobias," she says, and her voice has a warning tone.

"Jesus, you just past the first trimester and you've already got the mom-voice down."

"We need to talk."

"I don't want to talk about it. What is there to talk about? We already knew that my father is a complete asshole. Yours was more of a surprise, but not by much. What else is there to talk about?"

"You avoiding any and all emotion over this by screwing me senseless," she says, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.

Her arms push up her boobs. Thinking about her body is easier than remembering the marks on his own. He wants to get another tattoo... maybe another sleeve, perhaps, that spills on to his back like the one on his left arm. Tattoos are better than scars.

She says she plans to cover the one on her neck, but that irks him. He doesn't want her to cover it with anything, especially permanent ink. He remembers that argument well.

"_That's a bit hypocritical, don't you think? You can cover scars with tattoos but I can't?"_

"_It's... not the same."_

"_Why's that?"_

"_Because you're beautiful and you don't need to hide a damn thing, and I don't want you to hide anything. I don't think I could forgive you for hiding that scar, or anything else about you."_

"_I simply don't like the way it looks on my skin. You aren't just hiding scars, you're hiding memories, and that's a million times worse, because you're hiding a part of yourself with an ink armor you don't really need."_

_She is right, but he'll never say so. "I'm done with this topic," he says flatly, and then he pushes back his chair and storms out of the room._

The tattoo on his arm and back is better memories than what lies underneath it. The memory residing on his back, the framed '_Fear God Alone' _spilling from his shoulder is a simple memory of better times. Lynn always said that, and he liked it. It seemed like a good philosophy to have, a very _Dauntless _philosophy. Fear nothing except God. He wanted to fear nothing, but he didn't think he'd managed that yet. He's still afraid of his memories, of his _trauma,_ and just how deeply it has rooted itself inside him. Tearing it up will rip him apart, and he knows that. But fear only feeds it, like ivy that has grown dangerously, choking the life out of the trees and flowers around it.

It is easier to cover his memories with new ones. He will commemorate her in his new sleeve. It will cover the bitemark on his arm, and the scars that litter the right side of his back. He already knows what he wants on his back. A flame, a lit match... and an unlit sparkler. He'll get it done tomorrow.

"Helloooooooo? Ground control to Major Four."

"Huh?" He stares up at her blankly.

"Hey," she says with a soft smile. "Where'd you go?" He doesn't answer, but he doesn't need to. She sighs. "Why are you avoiding this conversation? It's inevitable, you know."

"Because... right now I don't want to think about it. I just want to get through this. Once I... _talk about it..._ I'm afraid I won't be..."

She sighs, seating herself on his lap, like they used to do. He brings his hands to her waist and back as she speaks, just like always. "It is an understandable fear, I guess," she says thoughtfully. "I don't know how I would feel or what I would do if it were me. But I will tell you this: I'm here for you, and I love you, and you're _mine,_ and I won't just sit by and let Marcus get away with hurting you. He _will_ pay."

"Thank you, baby."

"But you know... you'll have to testify to what he did in open court. Right? I mean... if that doesn't drag up all the stuff you're avoiding..."

He swallows. "I... I know." His hand shakes a little bit, and his finger tingle. "I... just don't want to think about it until I have to, okay?!"

"Okay," she surrenders, trying to keep her voice soothing. "Okay. We don't have to talk about it right now. But you know that if you ever want to..."

He presses his lips to her hair. "I know," he says, his voice muffled. "Thank you." He chuckles a little bit. "It seems absurd now to ever have been afraid to tell you about him."

She pulls away to look at him, confused. "You were afraid to tell me? But... why?"

"I just... I mean, once Christina... I had to tell her everything, you know? And she is the one that insisted I tell you but before that, I was afraid that you would... I don't know..."

"Think less of you?"

He shrugs and avoids her eyes. The pulse point on her neck throbs with life, and he laps at it with his tongue, making her shiver. He licks and sucks on it until there's a satisfying red mark. Mm, much better. He should make one just below—

She raises an eyebrow at him, and he sighs in defeat. His attempt at distracting her didn't work. Ugh, she really isn't going to let him have sex with her to avoid all the thoughts running through his head, but he really _doesn't _want to talk about it. Damn it.

"If there was a chance that I'd think any less of you, don't you think that I would have passed that judgment when I met you _in prison_? I mean... before I knew anything I'd assumed you were there because you did something, right? That would be the assumption. So don't you think that I would have left you alone right from the beginning? You... you asked me to do that, after all."

He sighs. "You're right. I know. You're right. Like I said, it seems absurd to have thought that. Can I _please _kiss you now?"

She chuckles. "You're incorrigible."

"I just love you, and you're attractive as fuck. And I want to kiss you."

"What's really bothering you?" she asks.

"I just..." he swallows. Damn it all. "I'm not ready for this, okay? I thought I would be ready to face him, to face... _myself..._ but I can't do it. I don't want to do it."

"You're afraid."

He hangs his head, but her hand is there, lifting his chin. She's always lifting him up somehow, and he loves that about her. He lets her tip his face up, and meets her eyes guardedly. There's no need for that, though, because her eyes shine with love and pride. "Hey," she whispers. "Remember that what you've been through and what you had to do... is not your fault. I know you're afraid to deal with this, but you will because you're brave. Bravery is the most obvious when someone is the most afraid, you know. And I think that everyone is going to see that you are strong and brave to fight for the memory of your mother and justice for her, despite your emotions. The jury will see what he did to you, yes, and they'll know how many times he tried to break you. But they're going to know that he didn't, because you're brave enough to stand in front of them and tell the truth." She kisses his lips, and looks into his eyes again. "Remember that you're not alone in this. You have Christina and Will, and you have me. You never have to relive all of those things on your own, and you never have to be afraid of us judging you. We love you. _I _love you."

He swallows, and the action is painful because of the lump forming in his throat.

"Remember that we'll help you when you think you can't bear this anymore. You were strong for me, you know, when I was in the hospital. So many times when I thought the pain was never going to go away, when all I wanted to do was cry in frustration because of it. You were there and you held me and calmed me down, gave me the inner strength to keep focused on getting well. Please let me do the same for you. Let me be strong for you."

Her eyes are finding all the roots that have damaged his soul. He can feel them shying away from their pale gray light, constricting in his chest and around his stomach as they hide, unwilling to be torn away from him.

She is wrong. He is neither brave nor strong. He is weak, he always has been. He just has been able to survive that way until now. He hopes as his first tears fall, that she can make good on her promise to be strong for him.

* * *

He's been staring blankly most of the day, laying on his side on the bed, his arms limply about him... she's not even sure she's seen him blink, let alone move. She only checks on him sporadically, understanding that what he wants right now is to be left alone.

She calls him out of work, quietly explaining to his manager, David, that this whole thing has been very difficult for him, and that it's finally catching up to him. He's not well, and he won't be able to work. He understands immediately, telling her that he has many personal and sick days that he can take, and that she should encourage him to take them. She thanks him, happy with his kindness, and gently lets Tobias know that he's got the next couple of days off.

He barely acknowledges her, only directing his blank, dark eyes to her for a second to let her know he heard.

She turns to leave, but his broken whisper stops her in her tracks: "Don't... don't go."

She returns to him immediately, and he lays his head in her lap, letting her hands soothe him to sleep. She lets her own tears fall. Last night was horrible. It wasn't crying from anger or sadness, or grief for his mother. It was floodgates finally bursting open, after the hurricane, but instead of destroying a city with water, traumatic memories seemed to wash through him like acid or lava, burning through him with searing, overwhelming, ruthless power until he had nothing left. Pompeii, not New Orleans. New Orleans has come back to life over the years. Pompeii never did Everything in it was washed away with painful power, leaving it blank, empty, lifeless.

He remembered things they were both sure he'd suppressed until then, and he gritted his teeth as he shook with them. He retched a couple of times, but nothing came up. He hyperventilated more than once too, his mind whirling with panic and despair

He clung to her desperately, and she recognized the part of him that was the lonely, hurting child, bewildered by the hate that surrounded him for so long. She held him as tightly as she could. When he finally fell asleep, she cried too, much like she is now.

She calls Christina, explaining his reaction to this whole thing.

Christina sighs. "I knew that was coming," she says somberly. "Do you think he'll be up for this?"

"I don't know," she whispers, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "I wish you'd heard the things he said..."

"I know, sweetie."

"It was horrible. But... maybe this is the worst of it. Maybe now that he's let all of this out, he'll be a bit more calm. But I don't really know." She pauses, clearing her throat. "If he doesn't want to do this... we can't make him. I won't see him like this again."

"Tris... he has to. He's the one that filed the complaint, without him—"

"I'm not going to let this destroy him," she says flatly. "_You_ are supposed to be _his _lawyer, looking out for _his _best interest. Look out for his best interest," she hisses. "If he can't testify, he can't testify."

Christina sighs. "Alright. I will talk to the prosecutors... and hope for the best. Tell him that we love him, would you?"

"I did," she says, sniffling a little. "Bye Chris."

"Bye, Tris."

When she puts her phone down, dark blue eyes are watching her

"Hey you," she says, her hand finding his hair again. "How do you feel?"

He shrugs. "Raw, I think," he answers after a long time. His voice sounds low and scratchy.

"Better?"

"I don't know yet. Maybe."

"How about soup?"

"I'm not sick."

"No, but you haven't eaten all day and you threw up last night. Soup might feel good."

"Okay."

"Go back to sleep?"

"I'll try."

She wanders into the kitchen, setting out vegetables, chicken breasts, noodles, and broth. She quickly seasons and cooks the chicken while the vegetables cook in the broth. When it's mostly done, she cuts the chicken into bite-sized pieces and puts it into the soup so that it finishes with the flavor of the chicken broth too.

She scoops soup out into a large bowl and slices a piece of lime on the side. On a small plate she puts saltine crackers, and then she loads it all on a tray and moves quietly into the room. He seems to be sleeping more peacefully now than earlier, and she feels bad about waking him. But his sigh of satisfaction when he puts the first spoonful of soup in his mouth makes it worthwhile. "God I love you," he mutters around a mouthful of soup and crackers.

She chuckles. "I love you too. I'm glad you feel better."

He sighs, setting aside his tray. "I think I do. I just... wasn't looking forward to that," he mumbles. "Letting all of that out, I mean. I..." he swallows. "I feel like... something grew inside me. Like a weed. And it had roots everywhere, and pulling it up by its roots just... tore up everything inside me, and now I don't know. I don't know anything, I don't even know how I feel, I just... I just want to go back to when everything was intact inside me."

"I think I understand that," she says quietly. "I... when Caleb...went to prison... how I viewed everything, how I felt about things, everything I knew was completely uprooted, and I spent so long feeling empty and injured... and _angry, _so angry. I didn't even visit him at first, you know. I didn't know if I could stand to look at him, to _face _him." She swallows. "But... time went on and I knew I had to, so I did. It was... really hard. Between Caleb and me, at first. It was super frosty, and awkward. He just kept looking at me like I was right to hate him, and... I don't know. Everything I thought and wanted was just... gone. It's so messed up. But I have a life to live, and so do you. So it gets better. You've got to... readjust, I guess, somehow. Get used to the new reality. It takes time. I... had a really good therapist, so that didn't hurt." She adds the last part sheepishly.

"Point taken," he mutters. Then he looks thoughtful. "Did it really help?" he finally asks.

"It's not like they show on TV, that's for sure. But it was healthy to face things about myself and my family in an environment that was... safer than trying to drown it out on my own." She looks over at him. "I still have her card, you know." She reaches in her nightstand and pulls out a mint green business card. It reads:

_Grief and Trauma Counseling Services  
Danielle Pohler, PsyD., Ph.D.  
(312) 555-1629_

Underneath the phone number is a long-ass email with a whole bunch of periods and whatnot, and he sighs. "Thank you. I... I will think about this."

* * *

He did think about it, and now he's anxiously sitting in the tiny waiting room. The room is cozy, with honey-colored walls and brown, overstuffed couches instead of clinical chairs. There are bookcases full of magazines and books, and there's a coffee and tea machine in the corner. There is a flat screen television as well, but he turned it off; the chatter was starting to bother him.

Finally, a woman calls out quietly, making him jump out of his skin. "Tobias? Oh... didn't mean to startle you." He studies her, his tension slightly lessening. She's not old and wearing tweed and waiting for him with her clipboard and legal pad, like he expected. She's not young either, though. She's thin and dressed much more casually than he expected, wearing dark jeans and a light yellow cardigan over a dark top. Her sleeves are pushed up and hair is in a messy knot at the top of her head.

He remembers that his mother wore her hair that way when she was cleaning.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Danielle."

He doesn't answer, suddenly on edge again.

She motions him into her office, which is also cozy and themed in warm, rich colors, this time browns and greens, and gold tones. He glares around suspiciously before sitting on the edge of the couch. His eyes widen a little and she chuckles, sitting at the other end of it instead of her desk. "So, how did you hear about this place?"

"Uh... my girlfriend. She, uh... used to come here. A while back."

"Oh yeah? What's her name?"

"Err... Tris."

Her eyes light up in recognition. "Tris! How is she doing? How is her brother?"

"She's okay. She's... happy. Caleb's... as well as he could be, I guess."

"There's more to that, isn't there?"

He purses his lips. "She's... we're having a baby."

"Congratulations," she says sincerely. "How exciting! How far along is she?"

"Err.. sixteen weeks. Her stomach is starting to grow, you know?" he smiles as he thinks of her.

"Does she know why you came here?"

"She's the reason I came here," he says flatly. "Well... not really. I mean..."

She chuckles. "I know the basic reason you're here. I watch the news, you know."

"Then you knew who my girlfriend is."

She shrugs. "I wanted to hear you talk about her."

"Then you can just ask," he says.

"Okay then. Tell me about Tris. How's she doing, what's she up to? How did you meet her?"

"Uh... I met her when she was visiting Caleb."

"So... you were a prisoner."

He nods. "I didn't do what they said I did."

"So you were incarcerated even though you were innocent."

"Ten years," he says quietly.

"How were those years for you?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. Kind of a blur, now, I guess. One big blob of horrible meals and lifting weights and making other people afraid of me. I... tried it on her too, you know. When she first saw me, I know she was afraid, at least a little bit."

"She would be. She had a difficult time accepting her brother's crime."

"Well... yeah I guess. I wanted to scare her too. But that only worked for a couple of weeks. Then she was back. And... you know, we've been together since."

"So that's coming up on a year now?"

"Uh... in May."

She smiles. "I'm very happy for you."

"She helped me get out... and almost got herself killed in the process."

"I... think I heard about that. It was on the news for a couple days."

"A couple days, huh?" he chuckles. "A couple of days covering ten wasted years of my life... right." He scoffs. "Anyway... so, after that it's been a few months, and she's recovered, and now there's this whole thing going on with... _Marcus..._"

"Marcus?"

"Yes."

"Your father."

"He's never been a father to anyone," he snaps, uncomfortable.

"No, but he _fathered _you. Regardless of what he's done, he's your father."

Tobias sighs. "Unfortunately."

"Yes, unfortunately for you."

"Don't think I didn't notice how you did that."

She chuckles. "I'm not that cunning. That was all you."

He frowns. "I'm not sure I like that."

"That you're surprisingly willing to talk about this, or that you can't blame anyone?"

He shoots her a dark look.

"What else is there about you?"

"Uh... well, I work at a bar. _Gloss. _It's like a lounge—"

"I have been there, actually," she says brightly. "It has very high reviews, especially recently..." She arches an eyebrow.

He feels heat rise in his cheeks. "Well... uh, when I was in Dauntless, I made a few extra bucks working in their bar. I, uh... like tasting wines and beers and such. Mixing drinks. You know, it's... it's fun. Interesting."

"What else do you like to do?"

"I... I don't know, really. I spend a lot of time at home. Usually with Tris. You know, the smell of her paints made her sick for a while, so she had to quit doing that. So we spent a lot of time watching movies, lazing around. She, uh... lost her job shortly before she got pregnant, though, so neither of us have much to do."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"I've been taking her to the doctor every month, you know, keeping up with her care, but... I mean, being a bartender isn't exactly a gold mine... it's really hard, and she's under a lot of stress with all of this... trial stuff."

"You worry it all will affect her pregnancy."

"She's tired a lot."

"You're afraid your father will ruin this part of your life too."

He lifts a shoulder. "I wish I weren't so afraid of him. I mean... I have to face him in trial and..."

"He hurt you," she says reasonably. "We don't have to get into all of this today, you know. We're just getting to know each other, and trust each other. Naturally, I understand you're on a tight budget and very stressed right now, so I don't want to rush this, okay?"

"Well... what about payment?"

"Don't worry about that. I'm sure we can work something out." She shrugs. "You aren't the first person to come through here with a limited budget."

"Limited everything. Face it, I'm thirty years old, I have no education, I'm a former member of a gang, and—"

"That can change. I mean, the education thing is entirely up to you."

"Yeah well... I did apply to some schools for this fall and... well, I heard back from some good ones."

"See? The limitations you see in yourself will fall away, you know."

"I know," he says roughly. "She... she showed me that they could."

* * *

**right, thanks for your time, folks. Sorry about the wait. Hope the chapter is worth it. It's a little dark but... nobody said this would be a cake walk, right?**

_**Stages **_**is up on my profile. It's an outtake based on Four's nightmare from the last chapter. Check it out while you wait for the next update :) hopefully it will be soon.**

**Cheers,  
-temporary insanity.**

**Oh, PS: I don't really know when this story will end... this whole thing is a little bit improvised. But, it will be fairly soon I think, and when it does end, I'm going to be doing some fic recommendations and such. Ergo, if there's something you're working on writing or reading and you really like it, drop the title and author in a PM or review.**

**Also, I'm taking suggestions on their baby. Should it be bab_y_ or bab_ies_, boy or girl or both... names... etc. let me know what you guys think, and I'll be sure to give shout outs to you guys for your help. **

**Thanks,**

**-T.I.**


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